


Balancing on breaking branches

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (the abuse is not between derek and stiles), Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Post Mpreg, Protective Derek, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Scent Marking, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, The Hale Family (Teen Wolf) Lives, True Mates, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Your kid,” Derek said slowly, “came running up to me. Tried to nuzzle a hole into my calf.”Stiles let out a laugh. It sounded bitter. “Caleb wouldn’t just leave my side like that. Did you call his name?”“I’m not a—”“A child predator? That’s exactly what a child predator would say, Derek."
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 723
Kudos: 1980





	1. One

**One**

Stiles woke up thirty minutes before his alarm went off, Caleb’s loose fists holding onto his Batman shirt. He’d worn that shirt clubbing once—Scott’s birthday six years ago, a Friday night Stiles barely remembered—but after so many washes the black had faded to grey, the yellow to a sad shade of cream. It was a memory of good days long gone.

He held Caleb closer, rubbing warmth into his small back, and went through his mental To-Do list. Make breakfast, go grocery shopping, work on his book while Caleb watched Paw Patrol, make lunch, call—

“Daddy?”

Stiles waited, breath stuck in his throat, but Caleb only cuddled closer. It was going to be one of those days then.

“Are you hungry, love?”

Caleb didn’t reply right away. He played with Stiles’ shirt instead, tracing the bat logo clumsily with his pudgy fingers. Then, in a low voice: “Pancakes?”

“I don’t think we have enough time for that today. We have to go to the store, remember?”

“Oh.”

Stiles hesitated. Dr. Jenkins said it was important to encourage Caleb’s speech, to make him feel like his thoughts and opinions mattered. Making pancakes from scratch would take them over half an hour, given Stiles’ cooking skills. It would be easier to give Caleb some juice and cookies, maybe a fruit. But Stiles had to make an effort. 

Effort. That was one of Dr. Jenkins’ favorite words.

“Okay,” Stiles said, gently pushing Caleb’s hair away from his face. “We’ll make some pancakes, but because we haven’t gone to the store yet there aren’t any chocolate chips left. We’ll have to eat them with some syrup. Is that alright with you?”

Caleb gave him a smile, tiny teeth on display. “Yes, daddy.”

Stiles kissed his forehead and stayed there, breathing in the scent of his baby shampoo, the one that everyone said smelled like apples but to Stiles would always smell like cinnamon and baby powder. Caleb, ever the octopus, let himself be nuzzled without complaint, cuddling closer and closer until his arms were around Stiles’ neck.

It was impossible to cook with Caleb on his hip. He was obedient and quiet, but there were only so many things Stiles could get done with only one free arm. Setting him down on the counter was a hassle, but at last, Stiles managed. 

“We’re gonna make at least ninety-nine pancakes. How do you feel about trying to make some of them dog-shaped? I’m not a great artist but I think I’ve watched enough Paw Patrol episodes to know exactly what Chase looks like.” Stiles cracked the eggs into the bowl he’d just pulled out. When that was done, he took the flour package from Caleb, who had been holding onto it with alarming solemnity. Hating the quiet, Stiles babbled on, “Did you know Grandpa can’t cook pancakes? He always, always burns them. One time when I was a bit older than you, Grandpa tried to make me some Nutella waffles and accidentally left the mix—fuck.”

Caleb sniffed the air. There was disgust in his voice when he spoke again. “Daddy, it smells like—like _bitter._ ”

Stiles stared at the quickly blackening pancake before him. Wasn’t there a saying about how the first pancake was never the best? Was this just Stiles’ luck? He tried to scoop up the mess from the pan and start his second attempt, but just as he was turning around his elbow grazed the bowl and tipped it over.

There was pancake mix dribbling down to the floor, a sticky pale mess already spreading all over the wooden boards.

Stiles took a deep breath, let it out. Some things were just not meant to be.

“If you could have anything but pancakes for breakfast,” Stiles said, picking Caleb up from the counter, “what would you choose?”

Caleb’s frown disappeared. He wasn’t looking at the mess in the kitchen, but at Stiles’ face. Big green eyes that weren’t sad or happy, just concerned, bored into Stiles’. 

“Donuts?”

“Dunkin’ or Krispy?”

Caleb leaned in and tucked his head under Stiles’ chin. He murmured something that sounded a lot like _daddy pick_ and relaxed, body going a bit limp by the time Stiles had finally made up his mind.

It was definitely one of those days.

*

“—before last month,” Mrs. Anderson said, “but I don’t know how long it’ll take the Sheriff to catch those boys. If you have any tips, you should—”

“Tell my father,” Stiles finished for her. He usually didn’t go out of his way to talk to seventy-year-olds, but Mrs. Anderson had cornered him and Caleb in the soup aisle to rant about loitering. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but my son is…”

The words died on Stiles' tongue. He turned around, his heart trying to climb up his throat, only to find that Caleb wasn’t looking at the cereal boxes or the protein bars like he usually did on the rare occasions when he wandered away from Stiles. Caleb was gone.

When had he let go of Stiles’ hand?

Mrs. Anderson’s voice came from far away as if Stiles was underwater. “Dear? You look a little pale.”

Letting go of the shopping cart without a second thought, Stiles walked into the next aisle. Empty. “Caleb? Caleb, where—”

Stiles could feel the start of a panic attack coming. There was a tightness in his stomach and a weight on his chest that threatened to take away his voice, and any other time Stiles would have let them. But not now, not when he needed to call Caleb’s name, call the police and the fire department and Missing Children.

He was running down the soda aisle and about to turn left when he heard Caleb’s voice. It did nothing to ease his anxiety, but it cleared his mind enough to track the sound. Two aisles to the right, next to the colorful bags of chips.

And then Stiles stopped, his blood too hot under his skin, bubbling, because there was a man holding his son.

“—find him, pup,” the stranger said, his back to Stiles. “What’s his name?”

Caleb saw Stiles first, over the man’s shoulder. He gave a smile that was all happiness, a strange contrast to the painful beating of Stiles’ heart, and started squirming.

“Daddy!”

“I know you call him that, but I’m sure he has a name.”

“Stiles Stilinski.”

The man turned around fast at Stiles’ words, his grip on Caleb only faltering when the boy started making grabby hands at Stiles to pick him up. Now that Stiles knew where Caleb was, that he was safe, his mind started to supply him with questions.

Stiles knew everyone in Beacon Hills. It was a small town, one Stiles hadn’t left in a really long time, and his dad was usually notified every time someone new moved in. Which did not happen often.

So who was this man? He certainly didn’t look like he belonged in Stiles’ hometown, not with the way his muscles moved under his t-shirt, not with how his beard was trimmed to perfection. The closer to him Stiles got, the more intense the smell of pinecones became.

“Who are you?” Stiles said. 

“Derek.”

“Derek _what_? What were you doing with my kid?”

“Your kid,” Derek said slowly, “came running up to _me_. Tried to nuzzle a hole into my calf.”

Stiles let out a laugh. It sounded bitter. “Caleb wouldn’t just leave my side like that. Did you call his name?”

“I’m not a—”

“A child predator? That’s exactly what a child predator would say, Derek.”

Caleb touched Stiles’ neck, his clammy fingers only inches away from the dotted scar Stiles used to agonize over. It made Stiles tense up involuntarily.

“I smelled sugar,” Caleb said, a poor attempt at a whisper. “Daddy, he smells like sugar. I had to—to see.”

Without subtlety, Stiles sniffed the air. Derek raised an eyebrow at him.

There was a sweet smell in the air, but Stiles doubted it was coming from Derek. It wouldn’t be the first time Caleb’s itchy nose tricked him, something that had only gotten worse after his third birthday. Maybe someone had opened a bar of chocolate nearby and Caleb had gotten confused. 

Stiles forced his voice to harden. “You can’t run off like that, Caleb. That’s dangerous and you know better. How many times has Grandpa told you about mean strangers in the street?”

“But he smelled—”

“I don’t care what you thought you smelled on him,” Stiles said. “You can’t let go of my hand and walk away from me, baby. Mrs. Anderson is a boring lady, but sometimes you have to put up with boring people.”

Caleb said nothing, his eyes on Derek. He looked fascinated in a way that made Stiles ache.

“Apologize to Derek.”

Derek shook his head, tense. “That’s not necessary. He wasn’t any trouble.”

“He needs to learn he can’t treat strangers like that.”

“You called me a child predator,” Derek said. He leaned forward slightly, just enough to be on eye-level with Caleb, who was starting to fidget in Stiles’ arms. “Maybe your daddy should be the one apologizing. What do you think, Caleb?”

“Yes, daddy,” Caleb said very solemnly. “Say sorry.”

Stiles’ head was starting to throb. He really, really needed to get home so he could finish cleaning the kitchen and work on his book. He said, “We’re both sorry, Derek. Thank you for—” What was the right thing to say? Thank you for not being a child predator? “Entertaining my kid.”

Derek looked like a man in pain. “No problem, Stiles.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You told him, daddy,” Caleb whispered. 

God. Could this day get any fucking worse? Stiles felt his embarrassment like a solid weight on his chest, dragging him down. He hid his face for a second in Caleb’s hair, taking in a few deep breaths, and when he looked up again Derek was gone.

Once he’d found his shopping cart, Stiles plucked out the carton of chocolate ice-cream he was going to buy for Caleb. Punishment was important for discipline, or so all the books Stiles had read on how to raise kids claimed. 

Caleb did not even protest. In fact, it did not look like he cared about the ice-cream at all, but rather about why Derek had smelled the way he had and when they were going to see him again.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, strapping him into the car seat. He was still out of breath from carrying all those grocery bags to the trunk. “Maybe soon.”

Caleb tilted his head to the side, exactly how Stiles’ dad did sometimes when he was watching TV. “How soon, daddy?”

“Soon.”

“But—”

“Next time we come to the store,” Stiles blurted out. 

He didn’t like lying to Caleb—Santa and The Tooth Fairy were exceptions—but his head was throbbing so badly he could not think straight. All he wanted was a bit of quiet, and quiet he got; Caleb was so pleased by the answer he did not talk again for the whole ride, smiling to himself.

*

**_you owe me 2 months thomas_ **

**_and his bday present_ **

**_I’ll send you some money next month._ **

**_you always say that_ **

**_child support isn’t fucking optional buddy_ **

**_hello????_ **

**_???_ **

**_fuck you_ **

*

The next time it happened wasn’t at the store but at Scott and Kira’s house. Stiles had prepared a paste for Kira’s lower back pain—something darkmagicforfools.com recommended fervently—and was dropping it off. It was supposed to only take five minutes, which is why he brought Caleb with him. Afterward, they were going to the park.

Stiles killed the engine. “I’ll be back in a second, okay? You can watch me through the window.”

Caleb nodded once and went back to playing with his Flash action figure. He seemed calm until Stiles opened the door of the car and started to get out. 

“Daddy—”

“Only a second,” Stiles said, trying not to groan. “Just watch me and wait.”

Caleb frowned. He tossed his toy away and reached out for Stiles. Another whine was coming, Stiles could tell, and so Stiles did what he had been taught to do: set a limit.

Closing the door softly, Stiles walked away from the car and up the steps of Scott’s front porch. He couldn’t hear any crying coming from the driveway, a good sign indeed.

“Hi, Stiles,” Kira said as she opened the door. “Do you want to come in? I was just about to start making lunch.”

Stiles handed her the bag. “Can’t. Caleb’s waiting in the car. You know how he gets.”

Kira looked over Stiles’ shoulder, her hand already raised and waving, and then she stopped. “Stiles.”

“Oh God,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t tell me he’s banging his fists against the window.”

“No, Stiles, he’s—”

There was an urgency to Kira’s words Stiles wasn’t used to hearing. He whipped around so fast his stomach threatened to expel the scrambled eggs he’d had for breakfast, and it only tightened when he saw the car door was open wide and Caleb wasn’t in his seat.

“Oh my fucking—Caleb? Caleb?”

Before Stiles’ soul could leave his body, there was a voice to his right, a mile or so away from the parked car. It was Derek’s.

“He’s here,” Derek said in a strained voice. Again, like an exact replica of their first encounter, he was holding Caleb to his chest, approaching Stiles and Kira with an expression that said he would rather be eating glass. “I was running and he just—appeared.”

Derek was wearing running gear, which included a sweaty t-shirt and loose shorts, both black. He didn’t even sound agitated, which made Stiles’ already boiling blood grow hotter. Who the hell looked hot while exercising?

The second Derek set Caleb on the ground, Stiles went down to his knees and grabbed his son’s shoulders with enough force to make him whine.

“Caleb,” Stile said, sounding murderous even to his own ears, “did you open the car door?”

“Daddy, I—”

“You were strapped to your seat. Did you—God, how many times have I told you not to go where I can’t see you? I told you to stay in the car.”

Caleb’s pout was shaky. He tried to rub at his eyes but the angle was too awkward, Stiles’ hands were in the way. “I smelled Derek.”

“You smelled—you know what? I’m not indulging this behavior, kid. We’re going straight home. No park for you today.”

“Stiles,” Kira said, “maybe you should come in and have a glass of water. You look—”

It was Derek who cut her off. “I’d like to talk to you for a second. Alone.”

Great, Stiles thought bitterly. He was going to get a lecture on how to raise his own kid. Or worse, he was going to get rightfully told off for bothering a hot stranger twice in the same week. 

“Go with Aunt Kira,” Stiles told Caleb, already herding him inside the house where Kira was waiting for him. “Just a second and I’ll be out of your hair, Kira.”

Kira shook her head, taking Caleb’s hand and closing the door softly, her footsteps barely heard over Stiles’ hammering heart.

He turned to face Derek. “I’m—”

“Your son is a werewolf.”

Stiles choked on his apology. Still sputtering, he said, “Excuse me?”

“You’re human,” Derek said, “but I guess the boy’s mother isn’t. He’s a little older than three, isn’t he? That’s when it starts manifesting.”

“Uh, buddy, I don’t think—”

“I’m only telling you this because he needs help. The reason he found me in that store the other day is that he’s desperate for a pack.”

An ache spread across Stiles’ chest. “He has a pack, dumbass. Why are you talking to me like I don’t know what my kid is? My best friend is a werewolf and—”

Derek did not look surprised. Or ashamed. “Bitten or born?”

“Bitten. What does that—”

“And he’s not Caleb’s mother.”

That comment pushed Stiles over the edge. Like hot lava, the words started to flow out of him, unstoppable and angry and careless. “Caleb doesn’t have a mother. _I_ carried him. I’m so fucking sick of people assuming only women can be Omegas. Isn’t there a law against omega discrimination in this state? And by the way, miss me with your heteronormative bullshit. I swear to God I’m always having to deal with fucking—”

“Was his other parent a bitten wolf?” Derek said, ignoring everything Stiles just spat at him. “If they were born, it means Caleb’s instincts are stronger than what your bitten friend might be used to. Caleb needs an Alpha, not just a found family acting as a pack.”

Stiles did not know what to say to that. He’d thought he had things under control. He’d thought he was doing enough—bringing Caleb over on Sundays so he could spend time with the whole pack, letting him be scented from time to time—but maybe…

“Is that why you smell like sugar to him?” Stiles demanded. “Because you're a born Alpha werewolf?”

Something flashed across Derek’s face. It was gone a second later, too fast for Stiles to even begin trying to figure out what it meant. With a stoic look, Derek said, “Yes.”

Stiles thought of Caleb’s clinginess, of all the nights he’d woken up at four A.M only to find his son had sneaked into his bed because he did not want to sleep alone. Stiles thought of Scott’s seminars and how often he was away for those weird pet-lover meetings. He thought of how the pack had basically dissolved over the last two years—Lydia had moved away, Jackson too, and Liam, and Hayden. He thought of Caleb’s face after meeting Derek at the grocery store, how soundly he’d slept that night, how big his smile had been. 

“Give me your phone,” Stiles said, voice a moment away from cracking. “I’ll put my number in.”


	2. Two

**Two**

“I don’t think it’s going to work,” Scott said for the sixth time.

Stiles took a long sip of coffee—a creamy, sugary concoction made by the gods—and tried very hard not to snap at Scott. He knew it sounded crazy, but there wasn’t any other solution Stiles could come up with. Alpha Werewolves weren’t exactly lining up at his door, offering to have play dates with his kid for free.

“Caleb’s therapist said it was fine,” Stiles said. “He even suggested I have my dad run a background check on Derek, just to be safe. Listen, it’s not—”

“All that scent stuff sounds a bit far fetched, is what I’m saying. We all know unmated Omegas smell sweet during heat, but I’ve never heard anyone describe Alpha pheromones as sugary.” Scott frowned. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with Caleb’s nose?”

Stiles bristled at that. “There’s nothing wrong with Caleb.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I’ve been reading some old books and they all agree with Derek. Pups need packs or else they risk growing unbalanced. I just.” Stiles swallowed, his guilt a solidified lump in his throat not even hot coffee could dissolve. “I didn’t think Caleb needed more, you know? Thomas never explained anything about his childhood.”

Scott patted Stiles on the back once, softly, his hand so warm Stiles could feel it through the three layers of clothes he was wearing. “That’s because Thomas is a fucking asshole, dude. It’s not your fault you didn’t know. Our pack isn’t—” He cut himself off. Then, tersely: “It’s not what it used to be. I haven’t been a very good Alpha.”

“You have a job.”

“That doesn’t mean it was okay of me to neglect my pack. When’s the last time you were scented?”

Stiles shifted in his chair, awkward and silent. Scott and Kira’s kitchen was all white wood and open windows, one of them facing the ever-flourishing backyard. Stiles stared at Caleb through the glass, his son being chased around by Kira and her hose. Maybe Caleb would sleep fine tonight, given Kira tired him out enough.

“Stiles?”

“A while,” Stiles finally said, not taking his eyes off of Caleb. His red shirt was covered in mud. “But I’m fine, Scotty. I’m—used to it. Suppressants help a lot.”

Scott stood up, his coffee mug forgotten on the table, untouched and growing colder by the second. He circled the mahogany table—a present from Lydia, three Christmas back—and stopped when he was standing right in front of Stiles. 

“I don’t need—”

“Stiles, please don’t be stubborn about this. You look like shit.”

Stiles snorted. “Woah, dude. Thank you so much for the compliments, really.”

“You know what I mean,” Scott said, pulling Stiles into a hug. “Idiot.”

No matter how much Stiles hated depending on others, be it his dad or Scott or fucking Derek, he couldn’t deny how good it felt to press close to Scott and breathe him in. Involuntarily, he shuddered when Scott pressed his hand to the side of his neck, thumb rubbing over the spot where Stiles’ pulse was the strongest. It felt like he could breathe again.

A horrible thought came to him then. Was this how Caleb felt? Was this what his son had been lacking all these months?

“You smell miserable,” Scott said into his hair. “Stop overthinking.”

Stiles wanted to laugh and cry, both at the same time. What came out of his mouth was a horrible hybrid between a snort and a sob, a sound so pathetic Scott’s grip on him tightened.

“I’m the worst father in the world.”

Scott rubbed wide circles on his back, the way Stiles sometimes did to Caleb. “I’m pretty sure that’s Thomas.”

And well, yes. Stiles had to agree with that.

*

A knock on the door startled Stiles into knocking over the picture of Scott and Lydia he kept on his desk. Despite the glass not shattering, Stiles’ annoyance only grew. He needed to finish this first draft by the end of the week and it was already Thursday. Correction: it was Friday, two o’clock in the morning.

“Daddy?” Caleb said when Stiles opened the door. Only one of his eyes was open. “You weren’t in your bed.”

“Because I’m working, baby. I’m very busy right now, so I need you to go back to bed and try to fall asleep again. Alright?”

Caleb leaned forward, blindly reaching for the hem of Stiles’ shirt. He clung to it and didn’t move for a long time, which was doing nothing to soothe Stiles’ anxiety. 

Stiles picked him up. “You can sleep in Daddy’s bed tonight. Come on, be a good boy.”

Caleb’s arms around his neck were very tight. “Stay here?”

“You can’t stay here. I’m working, remember?”

The apartment was dark and quiet, but Stiles knew his way around and didn’t need to turn on any lights as he made his way down the hall and to his room. It was, without a doubt, the most under decorated part of their home, what with Stiles never having enough time—or interest—to buy plants or mirrors or paintings. 

Stiles couldn’t understand what it was about his room Caleb liked so much. The only furniture was a double bed and a nightstand, and the walls were a boring and dull white. Even his sheets, blue and cottony, were ordinary. 

He tried to untangle himself from Caleb so he could lower him to the bed, but Caleb refused to let go, his grip on Stiles’ neck only growing tighter.

“Caleb,” Stiles said. A warning. “You need to go back to sleep now.”

“With you?”

“I have to work, but I’ll come back as soon as I’m done.”

Caleb squirmed in Stiles’ arms, trying to snuggle closer. There was a little damp spot on the front of Stiles’ shirt. “No, daddy.”

“Caleb, let go.”

In the darkness of the room, Stiles heard his own voice amplified. Caleb’s sniffling grew louder too, as if those two things were somehow connected: the volume of Stiles’ requests and Caleb’s cries. They probably were, Stiles reasoned.

It was late. Stiles had gotten up a few minutes before seven and spent the day arguing with everyone—his dad, who did not want Caleb to hang out with a stranger, his landlord, his ex. On top of that, chiseling away at his sanity, there’d been the knowledge that he was behind on his translations. Stiles needed to finish the book by tomorrow morning, not because he was some sort of workaholic, but because he needed the money.

With that in mind, Stiles stopped struggling to get Caleb off of him. It was a losing battle, one Stiles did not have the time to indulge in. Lights still off, he grabbed a throwaway blanket from the edge of the bed and walked back to his office. Caleb was still crying against his neck, warm tears dripping down Stiles’ collarbones.

“You’re going to sleep while daddy works,” Stiles said as he sat down in front of his laptop again. “But no crying, okay? Or I’ll send you back to your room.”

Caleb nodded. His breathing was stuttered like it always was after some minutes spent crying, but he remained calm while Stiles wrapped him up in the blanket and settled him on his lap. 

Ten minutes later, Caleb was completely gone, drooling on Stiles’ shoulder like he did when he was just a baby. Stiles was nowhere near done, but he knew that if he tried to move or, God forbid, carry Caleb to bed again, the crying would start and probably not end.

He worked for a long time on the last pages he needed to translate—runes that made him hesitate and look at his online dictionary way too often—and then decided to quickly read the whole thing to try and catch as many mistakes and typos as he could. By the time he was done with that, it was well over four in the morning.

With all that done and his neck and back killing him, Stiles should have gone to bed. Instead, he opened Google and stared at the search bar for a solid minute. Then, one-handedly, he typed in:  **_derek hale_ **

The search results did not disappoint.

*

Derek’s house was being renovated. It had once been Beacon Hills’ most expensive property, a Victorian mansion that had been rumored to have at least four bathrooms and two kitchens. Stiles, who had been born around the time the house burned down to the ground, had trouble believing those stories.

And yet now, standing in the property, watching people working like bees on the brick-laying and the painting and the gardening, Stiles could believe it.

Caleb tugged on his hand when he spotted Derek talking to one of the contractors. “Daddy, it’s Derek.”

“I know, love. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s here considering we came to see him. At his house. Because he invited us.”

Caleb was trying not to fidget, Stiles could tell. He’d insisted on wearing big boy clothes today, which consisted of soft jeans and a button-down Stiles had bought for him to wear at Christmas last year. He looked more like an adult than Stiles with his _ I love coffee  _ shirt and joggers.

Stiles was about to call Derek’s name when something weird happened. A gust of wind slammed into Stiles’ back and barely three seconds later, Derek was sniffing the air and frowning. 

When did Stiles’ life become a weird version of Twilight? One day he was eighteen, big plans of college and getting laid in his head, and the next he was twenty-four with a kid and a scent that made Derek Hale frown. Great.

Derek approached them slowly as if afraid they’d bolt if he made any sudden movements. He was wearing a nice pair of jeans, black, and a Henley that reminded Stiles of Brad Pitt in Troy. There was no reason to connect the two, but Stiles’ mind did it for him. Gladly.

“Hello, Stiles,” Derek said. It was stiff and awkward and Stiles hated it, but then Derek crouched down and smiled at Caleb, a toothy grin that had Caleb’s little hand sweating in Stiles’. “Hi, pup. Have you had lunch?”

Caleb nodded like a bunny on crack. “Daddy made me a sandy.”

“A sandwich,” Stiles said for clarification. “Sandy is just easier to pronounce.”

Derek gave Stiles an unimpressed look before turning his attention back to Caleb. “That’s good. What game do you want to play today? Hide and seek or tag?”

Caleb bit his lip. 

“There’s no wrong answer,” Stiles said. “You’re very good at tag, aren’t you, baby? You always win when you play against Uncle Scott and me.”

“Tag,” Caleb said. Then, like a challenge, he added, “Daddy plays too.”

“If he wants to, then that’s fine by me.”

The contractor Derek had been talking to cleared his throat a few steps behind Derek. “Mr. Hale? There’s a—”

“Not now,” Derek said without even looking at the man. He offered Caleb a hand. “Your dad can be it.”

Stiles herded him forward gently. “Go on. I’ll be right after you.”

The bizarre difference between Derek and Caleb’s hands was funny. And adorable in ways Stiles had not envisioned. 

“We can play in the meadow,” Derek said, already walking away with Caleb in tow. “There’s a stream there as well. Do you like swimming?”

Stiles watched them go hand in hand. He tried not to feel bitter over it all: a stranger who could make his son feel at peace just by holding his hand. Most nights, Stiles couldn’t even get him to stop crying.

But what hurt the most was that Stiles had stayed behind, observing them, and Caleb had not even noticed.

*

After, they all lay down in the shade, right by the stream where it was coolest. Stiles felt, and probably looked, sweaty and gross. It’d been a while since he had exercised and his thighs were burning from all the running around. Pathetic, but true.

Derek had scooped Caleb up and let him rest on his chest, not even complaining about Caleb’s drool or clinginess. There’d been a lot of rubbing involved—Derek’s nose against Caleb’s milky-white neck, his hand on Caleb’s back—and three minutes into it Caleb had fallen asleep.

On Derek.

“You’re a child whisperer,” Stiles said, gazing up at the clouds. The grass was tickling his neck.

“I guess.”

“He doesn’t do this. Ever. I’m surprised he hasn’t woken up yet.”  _ Asking for me _ .

Derek grunted, a sound that irked Stiles more than it was supposed to.

“So, what’s the plan, Mr. Whisperer? Should I bring him over once a week so you can scent mark him or is that too much?” Stiles saw a cloud that looked like a dog and wished Caleb was awake to see it. “I’m sure you have a lovely pack but I don’t want my kid in it. Yet. You seem… cool. But I don’t know your Betas, dude. Or Omegas. Do you even have—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Stiles blinked. When he turned to look at Derek, he found Derek already staring at him. “Call you what?”

“Dude.”

“Oh, I—”

“You said you carried him,” Derek said, avoiding Stiles’ gaze. “Where’s his other parent?”

With a sinking stomach, Stiles realized they were going to have this conversation. Caleb, as if sensing Stiles’ discomfort, made a whining sound. It died down as soon as Derek touched his hair.

“Thomas has never been involved,” Stiles said. Somehow, telling Derek all about how Thomas had bailed on him the day of the birth seemed too much. Even Stiles had his boundaries. “Which is good. I mean, he’s a dick and Caleb deserves better.”

Derek was quiet for a moment, his fingers playing with Caleb’s brown curls. The sight made Stiles ache. “Has he shifted already?”

“No. He doesn’t even growl. I read in  _ Werewolves: a practical guide  _ that he should have started growling at two, but that never happened. Do you think that’s—”

“It’s normal. Same as howling. Pups only engage in that sort of thing when they’re part of a pack. Otherwise, they don’t have anyone to copy.”

Stiles took in a deep breath. Then let it out. Good, he told himself. That was good.

“You mentioned something about a doctor in your texts,” Derek said.

“Yes, he’s—” Stiles swallowed. This never got any easier. “He’s very attached to me. And Thomas is an Alpha, which makes it all more complicated because there’s no one to balance things out at home. I took Caleb to a therapist a few months ago and we’ve been working through some issues with him.”

“But?”

“But it’s hard. Being a single parent, I mean. I usually leave him with my dad when I have my mandatory heats, but since my dad is a Beta it’s—sorry.” Stiles flushed hard, his cheeks achingly hot. “You probably don’t want to hear about that. That’s personal. What was I saying?”

“Is money an issue for you?”

Stiles almost choked on his own saliva. “What? What kind of question is that?”

“I’m assuming Thomas doesn’t help out financially,” Derek said. There was a weird edge to his voice when he spoke Thomas’ name. “And you don’t exactly look like you’re a businessman, Stiles. So, is money tight?”

“What does that matter to you?”

Again, Derek looked away from Stiles’ face. “I usually make one big donation a year to a local charity event. I just thought maybe you’d—”

“Fuck you,” Stiles said, sitting up. The sun was in his eyes, making his head swim. “My child is not a charity case, you asshole. Give him to me.”

Derek sat up slowly, making sure not to wake Caleb up. He then passed the sleeping boy to Stiles, who had to be mindful of how tight he was holding him. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It sure sounded like you did.”

“Once a week won’t cut it,” Derek said suddenly. His beard was messy where Caleb had been playing with it. “He needs more than that to form a real bond. And he needs to smell more like…”

_ Me _ . Derek did not say it, but Stiles heard it anyway.

“How often do you need me to bring him?”

“Every day,” Derek said. At least he had enough decency to look guilty. “I know it’s a hassle, but he really needs it. I promise all these issues you’ve been dealing with will disappear in a month if we keep a tight schedule.”

Stiles stared at him. With Caleb in his arms, things weren’t as bad. There was a tiny part of Stiles that was ashamed of his own pettiness. Maybe he liked that Caleb was dependant on him. Maybe Stiles was the problem. Maybe he should have given Caleb up as Thomas suggested.

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles said. “We’re both total strangers to you. My kid is cute, I’ll admit that, but that can’t be your only reason for wanting to help out. You’re an Alpha, you’re loaded, you have a pack. What do you get out of this?”

“He chose me,” Derek said. His eyes flashed, but he looked away before Stiles could make out the color. They hadn’t looked red. “Does it matter why? I’ve got free time to spare and I… like him. He’s a good kid.”

Stiles tried to keep his face blank. “He drooled on you, Derek.”

“I don’t care. It’ll wash off.”

Caleb stirred in his arms, his wet mouth on Stiles’ neck. He’d been so little once, tiny enough to fit in the crook of Stiles’ arm, and now he was growing more with each day, his hair getting curlier, his arms and legs longer. Selfishly, Stiles wished he could keep him like this forever.

“If we do this,” Stiles said slowly, “you don’t get to back down. He needs stability, not a new Alpha in his life every week. I need your word that you—”

“You have it.”

Derek stood up. He looked even bigger like this, towering over Stiles and eclipsing the sun. When he offered Stiles a hand, Stiles took it.

“It’s a deal then.”

Derek made a face. “Don’t call it that.”

“Well, what should I call it? Jeez, dude, you’re very touchy about vocabulary, aren’t you? Oh, shit. I called you—”

“Bring him over tomorrow, whatever time works best for you. Text me to let me know in advance when you’re coming so I can make you lunch.”

Stiles could only blink. There was a decisiveness in Derek that Stiles had never seen before in anyone, not Scott or Thomas or any other Alpha Stiles had ever met. It was unnerving. And hot. But mostly unnerving.

“Derek?” Caleb said, drowsy and sweet. 

Derek stepped forward and Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep from telling him to back off. Caleb needed this apparently, needed Derek, and Stiles was not going to get in the way of his kid getting what he needed.

Derek placed a gentle hand on Caleb’s back. “We’ll play more tomorrow,” he said, and his voice had an authoritative ring to it. It wasn’t quite an order, but it wasn’t a suggestion either. “Be good for your dad.”

“He’s always good,” Stiles said. Then, chipper: “Let’s go, baby. We have to see Grandpa.”

The walk to the car was silent. Derek helped strap a sleepy Caleb in his seat and stood by the side of the road, watching, until Stiles turned left. 

*

“Red,” Caleb said, twisting around so he could look at Stiles’ face. After a second, he added, “Please.”

Stiles kissed the top of his head and handed him the red pencil. It was a blessing his dad had refused to throw all of Stiles’ childhood things away—comics, markers, PJs. They helped keep Caleb entertained.

“What a pretty picture,” Stiles said. He rearranged Caleb on his lap before sipping his lukewarm tea. “Is that Scott?”

Caleb went on coloring, sloppy red lines everywhere. “Derek.”

His dad frowned across the table. “Derek? I thought you said you weren’t going to take Caleb to him.”

“I thought about it,” Stiles said, “and I decided it’s for the best if they meet a few times a week. Derek is—”

“You don’t know this man, Stiles.”

“I know he’s Caleb’s only option right now.”

“That’s not true,” his dad said. “There’s Scott. And if things got really bad, you could ask Dr. Jenkins for—”

Stiles held Caleb tighter, making him whine. “I’m not putting my child on medication, dad. We’ve been through this.”

“You were on Adderall as a kid, how is this different?”

“Adderall is not the same as fucking fake hormones.”

Caleb dropped his pencil. It rolled away to the edge of the table and fell to the floor with a rattling sound. “Daddy, you said a bad word.”

Stiles tried to smile. It was a wobbly effort. “I did. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Caleb said, reaching for a blue pencil. “Don’t say it again. Please.”

Stiles sipped his tea again, trying to calm himself down. Instead of snapping at his dad, he focused on Caleb’s drawing. Two stick figures holding hands, flowers growing around them.

His dad leaned forward in his chair, fingers drumming on the table. He always did that when he was about to tell Stiles off for something. 

“Have you been taking your suppressants?”

“Yes,” Stiles said instantly. He sniffed himself and couldn’t pick up on any sweetness. His lower back didn’t hurt, which usually happened when he was going into heat. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because last time you were so friendly with an Alpha you stopped taking them. Listen, I know you think it’s none of my business, Stiles, but I’m just worried about you. I’m worried about Caleb. I don’t think you—”

Stiles pushed his chair away from the table. “Put those pencils away, Caleb. We’re going home.”

Caleb did not complain, perhaps sensing his father’s anger, and started to put the pencils back into Stiles’ old Superman case. When he was done, Stiles picked him up and grabbed the drawing.

His dad followed him around the house as Stiles gathered his bag and keys. “Stiles, wait. I’m only saying you need to be careful of who you let into Caleb’s life. Is that so hard to hear?”

_ You think I’m a shitty father _ , Stiles thought as he walked to the front door.  _ You think I don’t know how to take care of my kid. You think I’m a slut _ .

“Daddy?” Caleb said, touching his cheek. They were already outside. “Are you mad at Grandpa?”

Stiles kissed him on the forehead. “No, baby. I just remembered we have to get home ASAP so we can watch Paw Patrol.”

His dad was on the front porch, his eyes sad. He tried one more time. “Stiles, I—”

“Later, pops,” Stiles said. His throat was very tight. “We have a Paw Patrol marathon coming up!”

Caleb wiggled his hand wildly. “Bye, Grandpa!”

Once in the car, Stiles let himself breathe. He pressed his forehead to the cold leather of the steering wheel and swallowed around the knot his vocal cords had become. It was fine. Everything was fine. 

His phone buzzed against his thigh once, an incoming text. As he started the car, Stiles took his phone out and checked it wasn’t anything work-related—another translation, a huge edit to his last manuscript, that one email he’d never answered—and was surprised to see Thomas’ name on the screen.

**_My mom wants to see Caleb this weekend. I’ll pick him up Saturday morning._ **

Stiles tossed his phone on the passenger’s seat and jammed his finger into the play button of the stereo. The lyrics  _ we'll be there on the double, whenever there's a problem  _ only made him more nauseous, but Caleb started singing along quickly. It made the whole drive back home bearable.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to post this on sunday but i thought it'd be a nice way to start the weekend! thank you for all the kind comments, this is my first fic for this fandom and i'm still a bit anxious about it:,) if there's something (a scene, trope, etc) you'd like to read, let me know and i'll try to include it next chapter.
> 
> thank you for reading!


	3. Three

**Three**

Stiles was pretending to be asleep. 

He knew Derek could tell he wasn’t, and he also knew that Derek knew he knew. But there was something exciting about seeing—or hearing, rather—Caleb interact with Derek as though there was no one around. 

They were in the meadow again. This time, Stiles had told them he was too tired to join their game and thus sat under the only tree around, enjoying the shade. It was an easy transition, sliding to the ground and resting his head on his backpack, eyes closed.

“I could chase you,” Derek said to Caleb. “Or we could race each other. You pick, pup.”

“I—don’t know.”

Stiles tensed, expecting a snarky, irritated reply from Derek. It was hard to get Caleb to speak his mind sometimes, and it was worse when speaking up meant making a choice. Most kids his age were hyperactive and on a 24/7 sugar rush—Stiles had been one of them—but Caleb was quieter. Withdrawn. 

But Derek didn’t snap. His voice was calm when he spoke again. “That’s okay. We can just sit here and talk until you’ve made up your mind.”

They were quiet for a long time. Stiles almost opened his eyes, too curious to keep up his performance as a sleeping beauty.

But then, hesitantly, Caleb said, “Daddy says you’re like me and Uncle Scott.”

“I am. There are a lot of people like you out there, Caleb.”

Stiles should have told him more about werewolves. He should have bought one of those kid books that came with colorful drawings of half-shifts, of other children like Caleb. If he’d done that, then maybe Caleb wouldn’t sound as amazed as he did now, as if Derek was the missing piece to a puzzle he’d been trying to complete forever.

Derek went on talking. “I have three friends I’m very close to. They’re like family to me, that’s how much I care about them. And guess what?”

“What?”

“They’re like us, which means they’re special. They can do all sorts of things other people can’t. Erica,” Derek said, grudgingly, “can run really fast. And Boyd has a good nose. I think they’d love to meet you.”

Caleb was silent for a long time after that. Stiles, who was terrible at not fidgeting, was finding it harder and harder to not sit up and join in the conversation, but just when he was about to open his eyes, he heard Caleb’s voice.

“Why isn’t Daddy like us?”

Stiles froze, his lungs refusing to expand inside his chest. He was so still it hurt, and he was certain Derek knew he was awake and listening, what with the frantic beat of his heart.

“Because your dad is human,” Derek said slowly. “He was born that way. You were born different.”

Caleb’s voice was now a whine. “But why?”

“Your other father is a werewolf. That’s why you’re one, too. Some people—” Derek cut himself off abruptly. “Sometimes humans can become werewolves, but it’s very dangerous and it’s… hard to get right.”

“Oh,” Caleb said. “How?”

“If a werewolf bites a human.”

At Derek’s answer, Caleb let out a frustrated huff. “That’s not true! Lying is bad, Derek. Say sorry.”

“Of course it’s true,” Derek sputtered. Stiles could picture him frowning, thick eyebrows becoming one. “Why would you—”

“My dad bit my daddy, but my daddy is not like me. Lying is bad.”

Stiles couldn’t play along anymore. It hurt too much. With as much calmness as he had left in him, Stiles started to stretch and yawn loudly, making a show of sitting up and opening his eyes. 

“So,” Stiles said, making sure to avoid Derek’s eyes. “What have you two been up to?”

Caleb half-ran, half-toddled to Stiles. He was all over Stiles’ lap before Stiles could even get out a word of protest. “Don’t wanna play today,” he said, tucking his head under Stiles’ chin. “Derek was—he said a lie, daddy.”

Derek was watching them. Stiles did his best to ignore him.

“You’re a little fussy, aren’t you, baby? Do you want to take a nap?”

Caleb made a sound against Stiles’ throat and did not move again. He was already breathing slowly by the time Stiles had managed to get on his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said to Derek. He didn’t know where to fix his gaze, and so he chose to stare at Derek’s shoulder. “He didn’t sleep well last night and he gets a bit…” Stiles made a vague gesture with his free hand. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

_ Please, don’t ask _ , Stiles thought fervently.  _ Please let this one go _ .

Derek offered him a frown. “He wasn’t.”

They started walking back towards the house—the last of the workers had already left, and Stiles had never seen the property so empty—and it took longer than usual because Caleb was a dead weight in Stiles’ arms, which made walking at Derek’s rhythm a hassle.

“Same time tomorrow?” Stiles said, awkward and unsure, as he tried to fish his car keys from his bag. At Derek’s expression, he added, “Or… not. We don’t have to stop by tomorrow.”

Derek looked like he was in pain. Or constipated. Or both. “It’s Friday tomorrow.”

“It is. Today is Thursday, which makes tomorrow Friday, and the day after that Saturday.”

“I know the days of the week, Stiles.”

Stiles gave him a look. “Sure you do.”

“I just meant—it’s Friday. My pack usually comes over on Friday nights. We have dinner together and they sleepover.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, slipping a hand under Caleb’s bum to support him better. He tried not to sound disappointed. “I get that. It’s fine. We’ll see you on Monday then. If you want to, that is.”

Derek rubbed a hand over his face, messing up his beard. He really needed to trim it. “I’m saying you should have dinner with me. With us. You can meet the pack and see if you…” He paused. “Approve of them. If Caleb likes them.”

Things were moving fast. And yet… Stiles had been coming over to Derek’s for almost a week now. He’d seen how good Derek was with Caleb, how good he was to Caleb. Although grudgingly, his dad had sent Stiles everything he could find on Derek Hale’s record. The man was clean, in every sense of the word.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “But just because we’re coming over doesn’t mean—it doesn’t mean he’ll join your pack.”

“No,” Derek said, tense. “Of course not.”

“Well, in that case… Brownies or ice-cream?”

Derek blinked and almost tripped on a fallen branch. “What?”

“I’m not a great cook,” Stiles said almost sheepishly. Everyone who knew him knew how much his cooking sucked, but Derek was still a tentative acquaintance. He didn’t know anything about Stiles and his lack of skills. “But, you know.” A shrug. “The least I could do is bring you guys some dessert.”

A little brusquely, Derek said, “Don’t bring anything.”

They’d reached Stiles’ car. It was silent for a minute or two as Stiles opened the back door and strapped Caleb into his seat. It was also very awkward.

“What does Caleb like best?”

“Uh, what?”

Derek let out a huff. “For dessert. What’s his favorite treat?”

Stiles did not even have to think about it. “He loves fruit. I know, weird kid, isn’t he? I swear his taste buds are dead. One time, when he was two, I tried to give him a bite of chocolate cake and he almost threw—”

“Any fruit?”

Stiles leaned against his car, trying not to feel hurt. Of course Derek didn’t want to hear him rant about puke. “Er, yes. He’ll eat anything, but his favorite is pineapple. Or grapes.”

Derek was nodding. Stiles could picture a giant To-Do list in his head. “Allergies?”

“None.”

“Good,” Derek said.

And with that, he turned around and started back towards his half-built house. Stiles tried very hard not to stare at his ass.

*

Stiles felt a sharp pain in his neck. For a second, a really long second, he thought it was his scar. But then he opened his eyes and realized the pain was on the other side of his throat, a spot Thomas had not ruined.

It was dark in his room, curtain drawn and door closed, and his alarm had not gone off yet. Which meant it was earlier than six a.m.

There was a weight on him, making it hard to breathe. In the dark, Stiles tried to push at it, only to find that the thing smothering him was Caleb.

“What are you doing?” Stiles said, finally sitting up. Caleb’s hands were fisted in his Batman t-shirt. “ _ Ouch _ . Baby, what are you—stop biting me, Caleb!”

Caleb froze. He let go enough for Stiles to be able to twist around and find the light switch by the bed. When the light filled the room, he tried to hide his face in Stiles’ neck, which was very wet.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” Caleb said, and his voice was like a tremor. 

Stiles touched his neck and frowned at the spit there. He could have sworn there’d be blood.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“No.”

“Then what’s going on? You can’t go around biting people, Caleb. That  _ hurt _ . It’s three in the morning and you’re supposed to be sleeping. We’re both supposed to be sleeping.”

Caleb burrowed closer, his eyes wet against the patch of skin Stiles’ t-shirt did not cover. “Derek didn’t say—Sorry, daddy. I’m sorry—”

Stiles tried not to heave. His stomach clenched around nothing, sending bile up his throat. Still, he forced himself to speak. He had to know, had to be sure he wasn’t jumping to the wrong conclusions. “Why were you biting me, Caleb?”

Caleb just cried. He was getting worked up, Stiles could tell, and it was making it hard for him to breathe. Stiles held him to his chest, one hand stroking his back while the other played with his hair in that way he knew Caleb liked. 

“You’re not in trouble, love,” Stiles said. “I just want to know what happened. Can you tell me?”

Caleb hiccuped against Stiles’ chest. “Derek said—said you could be like Uncle Scott. Daddy, I’m—”

“Breathe, Caleb. You’re going to choke if you keep that up. Come on, breathe with me.”

It took several minutes for Caleb to calm down. Stiles tried to sit still at first, letting him cry it out, but once it became obvious that Caleb needed something more, he started slightly rocking him back and forth like he used to when Caleb was a baby. 

Back then, Stiles had been on his own, just as he was now. He’d been twenty-one, an anxious mess of post-birth hormones, broken-hearted over Thomas, with a baby that cried every time he was separated from Stiles. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he’d made it through that hell, that Caleb was as sweet as he was. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he’d been trying his hardest for years.

Scott and Lydia had tried to help. Allison too. They’d stayed over at Stiles’ childhood home, taking turns changing diapers and feeding and cooking. But in the end, they all had their own lives to go back to, lives that did not revolve around a newborn and his single dad. In the end, Stiles had told them to go—to college, to work, to their families. 

It would have been unfair to ask them for more.

Eventually, Caleb calmed down enough to talk again. “Daddy,” he said, muffled and tiny and hesitant in a way Stiles never wanted him to feel. Not when Stiles was in the room with him. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. Just… Did you try to bite me so I could be special like you?”

Caleb nodded, rubbing more tears and snot into Stiles’ already ruined t-shirt. 

“Okay,” Stiles said shakily. It felt like someone was stomping on his heart. “That’s okay, love. I know—I know you only meant well.” He smoothed Caleb’s curls back. “Lie down with me for a second.”

After turning off the light, Stiles took his time smoothing the sheets over his and Caleb’s body. He made sure Caleb was warm and comfortable before lying down next to him.

“You’re my sweet boy,” Stiles said against Caleb’s forehead. The words were an echo of praise years ago murmured in a room a lot like this one. “It’s okay. You were trying to do something nice for daddy, weren’t you? Of course you were, my sweet boy.”

Caleb cuddled closer and closer until his face was completely pressed into Stiles’ arm. His shaking died down slowly, made better by Stiles running a careful hand through his hair. He was asleep long before Stiles stopped telling him how good he was.

*

“Are you sick?” Derek said as soon as he opened the door.

Stiles shrugged. He felt… miserable. But he wasn’t going to stand on Derek’s front porch venting about his life problems with Caleb holding his hand. And Derek’s pack inside, probably listening to every word Stiles said.

“We had a rough night,” Stiles said. It wasn’t a lie. “But now we’re here and we’re ready to party. Aren’t we, Caleb?”

Caleb squeezed Stiles’ hand. “Yes, daddy.”

“And what do we say to Derek for inviting us over?”

“Thank you, Derek.”

Derek’s frown softened the tiniest bit when his eyes landed on Caleb. He said, “It’s no problem.”

“No,” Caleb said, and now he was frowning. “You have to say ‘you’re well come’, Derek.”

“Welcome, not well come.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek said.

The inside of Derek’s house was unlike any other house Stiles had set foot in. High ceilings, polished wooden floors, impeccable walls. Despite the fact that it was still being built—Stiles spotted a set of bricks and two shovels by the door, as well as windows without glass—it was still the coziest place. 

It smelled the way a home should. 

Derek helped Caleb out of his coat and then hung it by the door. They were talking about Paw Patrol, which should have felt weirder than it did. Stiles did not know how Derek knew so much about a kids’ show, but he did not ask. Maybe Derek spent a lot of time with his nieces and nephews.

The kitchen was just as beautiful and half-finished as the rest of the house. The oven was black and new and shiny, and it probably cost more than Stiles’ whole apartment. The cabinets were white with silver handles, which reminded Stiles of those picture-perfect kitchens one only ever saw on Instagram.

Caleb latched on to Stiles’ leg the moment they stepped into the dining room. He hadn’t let go of Stiles all day: watching cartoons on Stiles’ phone while Stiles worked, walking with Stiles to the library to find a book on southern witches, napping on Stiles’ lap while lunch was being cooked. 

And it was worse now, with Derek’s pack of strangers on the couch.

“Hi,” Erica said. Stiles assumed that was her name since she was the only girl around. “It’s good to finally meet you. Derek has told us—”

“Erica,” Derek said warningly.

“—so much about you. It’s great that you could spare some time to have dinner with us.” She flashed him a smile. It looked predatory. “Do you go out a lot on Fridays?”

Stiles frowned. “I—”

“Hello,” a dark-skinned man said. He nodded at Caleb. “I’m Boyd. This is Isaac.”

Isaac looked like a teenager, all wiry arms and legs. There was a nervous energy to him, something that reminded Stiles of his own ADHD. Isaac stayed on the couch but made a point to wave at Caleb.

“It’s good to meet you too,” Stiles said at last. “Can you say ‘hi’, Caleb?”

Caleb hid behind Stiles’ legs when Erica got closer. It did not surprise Stiles in the slightest, because Caleb had never done well with strangers. Derek being the obvious and inexplicable exception.

“It’s fine,” Erika said. “Derek told us he’s a bit shy. So, you never answered my question, Stiles.”

“Food’s ready,” Derek said. He was doing that thing with his eyebrows, a frowny dance. Erica did not seem impressed. “I need some help bringing in the pizzas though. Maybe you can help me, pup?”

Stiles tried to unlatch Caleb from his jeans. “I thought you’d have them delivered. Did you make them yourself?”

“It’s just pizza.”

Boyd snorted.

“Derek is a great cook,” Erica said. “He spent all day kneading and—”

“Not all day,” Derek argued. “And it’s not like it was a lot of work. Isaac helped.”

“I only watched,” Isaac said from the couch. His eyes were on his phone screen. “Derek wouldn’t let me touch the dough. Or the sauce. Or the cheese.”

Picking Caleb up, Stiles said, “You need to teach me how to clean, dude. If I had been the one cooking, my kitchen would be in shambles right now. Yours is…” Elegant? Impressive? All of the above?

Now Derek looked embarrassed. There was a flush to his cheeks Stiles liked very much. “I have more than one kitchen.”

Oh.

“Did you hear what Derek said, love?” Stiles whispered to Caleb, who was promptly trying to hide away from Erica’s stare by nuzzling Stiles’ neck. “He needs help. You always help me cook, don’t you? You’re very good at it.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Derek said. “I just thought…”

Stiles moved his hands under Caleb’s armpits. “Here, Derek. He just wants to be held for a little while.”

Surprisingly, Caleb didn’t try to hold on to Stiles. Instead, he latched on to Derek to keep from slipping to the floor, both arms tight around Derek’s neck. They looked nice like that, Stiles decided. They looked right.

Stiles watched them disappear into the kitchen, Derek’s talking in a low voice about pizzas and toppings. 

An awkward silence fell over the room with Derek gone. They were all adults, close in age, but complete strangers. At least, they were strangers to Stiles. Derek had not even told him their names or what they did for a living.

“I don’t go out,” Stiles said, looking at Erica. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Friday nights are tough. Babysitters have social lives too, I guess.”

Anyone else might have said something pitying. Not Erica. She smiled again, a conspiratory edge to her grin, and said, “I get it. Kids are a handful, aren’t they? Even one as sweet at Caleb must have his challenges.”

_ How do you know he’s sweet?  _ Stiles wanted to ask. Was that something they could sniff out too?

“Which is why we’re not having them,” Boyd said. “I’d rather be an uncle than a dad.”

“You need siblings for that,” Isaac said, glancing at Stiles for only a second before going back to his phone. “Which you don’t have. And no, I’m not having kids either.”

Erica patted Boyd’s shoulder twice. “There’s Caleb now! Imagine all the cool things we could buy for him. I saw a bubble machine the other day at—”

“Now you’re just using Stiles’ kid as an excuse to buy stupid things you want.”

“Shut up, Isaac. Boyd, tell him to shut up.”

Boyd gave Stiles an exasperated look.  _ See what I have to deal with?  _ it seemed to say. And Stiles… 

Stiles smiled. Derek’s pack wasn’t so bad after all.

*

Erica insisted Stiles sat down at the dinner table and did not move for the next fifteen minutes. In that time, Stiles guiltily watched as she and Boyd lay the table, expensive silverware and napkins, and jugs of water and juice. Stiles had declined beer, even though he was craving one, mainly because he wanted to be as alert as possible in a house full of werewolves. 

Also, Derek’s taste in beer was disgusting.

Once the table was perfectly lined with plates and glasses, they all sat down around Stiles, very carefully leaving one seat next to Stiles—for Caleb, he guessed—and one across him.

Boyd was in the middle of explaining how his job allowed him to travel around a lot when Caleb toddled into the room, a beautiful plate with a mini pizza on it in his hands.

“This one’s mine, Daddy,” he announced as though he and Stiles were the only ones there. Then, he set the plate on the table with Isaac’s help and climbed on his seat. “It has ovies.”

“Olives, baby,” Stiles corrected. “Where’s Derek? Did you lose him on the way here?”

Then Derek walked into the room, a huge pizza in each hand. No sooner had he set them down on the table than he was gone again, without any explanation. 

Stiles looked at Erica. “Isn’t he eating with us?”

“Oh, honey,” she said, laughing. “Just wait. He went all out for you.”

“And Caleb,” Boyd added.

All out? What did that even—

Derek walked in again, this time with three pizzas. For the first time, Stiles focused on the food in front of him and realized all the plates looked very different from each other. Caleb’s small pizza had olives and cheese and something that looked like basil. But there were five more, adult-sized, each with a different set of toppings: pepperoni, chicken, mushrooms. It was ridiculous.

“I,” Stiles started, and stopped. He realized he did not know what to say.

Derek sat down in front of him. When he noticed Stiles’ eyes on him, he said, “What?”

“It looks good.”

“Daddy,” Caleb said, tugging on Stiles’ sleeve. “Can you cut it? Derek said I can eat it with my hands.”

Stiles groaned internally. He hated doing laundry. “Did he say that? Well, then I guess you can. But you have to be careful, baby.”

As if reading his mind, Derek said, “Don’t worry about his shirt getting dirty. I have a few from the last time my nephew came over.”

Isaac snickered. It sounded a lot like  _ yeah, right _ . 

Stiles cut Caleb’s pizza and gave him a paper napkin so he wouldn’t get sauce all over his hands. It all smelled divine, but it wasn’t until Stiles took the first bite that he realized just how good Derek was at cooking.

“Oh my God.”

Erica laughed. “You like it, don’t know? See, Der-bear? I told you he would.”

Stiles almost choked. “Der-bear?”

“It’s a childhood nickname,” Boyd explained. He ate his pizza with a knife and a fork, like a proper gentleman. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Derek looked like he wanted to die. Stiles could empathize with him. He still remembered how painfully awkward it’d been when his dad and Thomas had had dinner together. Of course, it wasn’t the same situation—Stiles wasn’t The Boyfriend meeting The Parents—but he knew introducing new people was always weird. Especially for werewolves.

Boyd and Erica asked him a lot of questions throughout the meal. Stiles answered most of them, trying not to get too distracted by Caleb’s messy eating next to him. There was only so much napkin dabbing he could do before it was a lost cause.

In turn, he learned a lot about Derek’s pack. Erica worked for Derek’s sister, Laura, at the family company. Some sort of high-end secretary. Boyd, on the other hand, had his own business. Some sort of tech thing a younger Stiles would have killed to hear more about.

Nowadays, it was hard not to feel resentful of his younger self. He’d been close to getting his degree, close to having a real job and becoming a real adult, but then Thomas had come along. And Caleb.

Isaac ate a lot and said very little. He seemed content watching Derek and Caleb interact, and all his comments were directed at Stiles’ son. Maybe Paw Patrol was more famous than Stiles had originally thought.

Once everyone’s plates were cleared, Derek got up from his seat and disappeared into the kitchen for the third time. Isaac stood up as well and, refusing Stiles’ offer to help, picked up the dirty plates and balled up paper napkins and followed Derek.

“Please tell me there’s no more pizza,” Stiles said, only half-joking. He’d eaten so much his stomach felt three sizes too small. 

“Now’s dessert time!”

Caleb was already trying to climb on Stiles’ lap. “Does that mean cake, daddy?” 

“I don’t know. But if it’s cake, you have to thank Derek anyway for making it. Cake is very hard to make.”

“There’s no cake,” Boyd said. He let out a sigh. “Which is disappointing, but good. Your kid is a health nut. We could learn a thing or two from him.”

“You’re werewolves. You can’t even get diabetes.”

“Thank God for that,” Erica said. “Last weekend I ate an entire box of cupcakes all by myself. I don’t think I’d be able to live a sugar-free life.”

Stiles thought of his dad. All those heart problems, his high cholesterol… All of it gone with a single bite. If only things were that easy for everyone.

Derek and Isaac walked in at the same time. Both of them were carrying fruit platters, the sort Stiles had only seen in rich people movies. It was the sort of thing Kylie Jenner ate for breakfast, probably.

“Derek,” Stiles said, a bit out of breath. “This is…”

Derek only shrugged. He grabbed a clean plate from the pile Isaac was holding and loaded it with pineapples and grapes, then placed it in front of Caleb. And Stiles.

“You can grab anything you want,” Erica said. “You don’t have to eat gross pineapple just because Derek selected it for you.”

Caleb frowned at her, already grabbing a chunk of cut-up fruit with his bare hand. It was, of course, pineapple. 

“This kid is going places,” Isaac said, watching him. “He eats fruit even though he doesn’t have to.”

Stiles kissed the top of Caleb’s head. At least he’d done one thing right.

*

In the end, Caleb ended up needing to change his shirt. It was sticky in places and, given that Derek had offered, Stiles decided he wasn’t asking for too much. 

“I’ll wash it and bring it over on Monday,” Stiles said as Derek handed him the t-shirt. It was the softest thing Stiles had ever touched. “Thank you for—”

Derek was shaking his head. “Don’t. I don’t expect you to bring it with you tomorrow, Stiles. Or next week. You can keep it.”

Stiles focused on getting Caleb out of his dirty shirt and slipping the clean one on. He could hear, faintly, Boyd and Isaac talking in the kitchen. Erica had disappeared into the bathroom well over ten minutes ago without any excuse. Something told Stiles she was trying to give him and Derek room to talk.

“About that,” Stiles started.

Caleb sniffed the sleeve of his new shirt. He then tried to rub it against Stiles’ cheek.

“What?” Derek said, an edge to his voice. “I thought we’d agreed you’d bring him over every day for a few weeks.”

“Thomas is taking him away for the weekend. I know I should have let you know sooner, but it completely slipped my mind. Work has been crazy this week and he’s—”

Suddenly, the house was very, very quiet. Derek’s hand on the table was tense, knuckles white as bone.

“You said he wasn’t involved.”

Stiles stood up slowly. He’d been crouching to dress Caleb up. “And he isn’t. It’s just… His mom wants to see Caleb, which is good news. She’s a cool lady.” He playfully covered Caleb’s ears and mouthed, “And he’s paying child support again because I’m letting the visit happen.”

Derek didn’t speak for a long time. 

“I think,” Erica said, materializing out of thin air, “we should have some puppy piles! What do you say, Caleb?”

Caleb looked up at Stiles, a question on his face. 

“It’s what we do with Uncle Scott,” Stiles said. “You know when Aunt Lydia and Uncle Jackson come back home for the summer and we all sleep together? Those are puppy piles, baby.”

Caleb’s frown only deepened. “But Uncle Scott isn’t here, daddy.”

“Look,” Isaac said. The last thing Stiles had heard him say was that he was going to do the dishes, but now he was holding a DVD, Blue-ray edition. “I thought we could watch some episodes of Chase and—”

“Yes! Can we watch the one where they—they have to put out the fire?” Caleb was bouncing next to Stiles, practically vibrating with energy. Stiles had never seen him like this. “Did you know my grandpa is a policeman?”

“He’s the Sheriff,” Stiles said for clarification. 

Isaac offered Caleb his hand. “Come on. I have a feeling you’ll like Derek’s TV set.”

Ten minutes later, everyone but Stiles was on the couch, legs sprawled over laps, cheeks on chests and shoulders, fingers interlocked. Caleb was on Derek’s lap, his eyes glued to the massive TV where the cartoons looked like they were almost fucking real. It gave Stiles the creeps.

Feeling weird, both frustrated and content, Stiles sat himself on the loveseat and watched his kid be happy with other people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i hope you've had an awesome weekend! (i also hope you're not annoyed by my frequent updates lol). thank you for all the kind comments. i promise the next chapter will include a lot more answers and some of the tropes you guys asked for! (and more fluff! this chapter was a bit angsty). can't wait for you to meet thomas.
> 
> thank you for reading!


	4. Four

**Four**

The next morning was a mess. Stiles’ charger somehow broke and did not do its job, which was  _ charging Stiles’ phone _ . And so he woke up when the light was already covering his whole room, three hours too late. 

Caleb slept on as Stiles ran through the apartment, stuffing clothes and pull-ups—no one knew when Caleb might have an accident—into Caleb’s Frozen backpack. The mental check-list in Stiles’ brain was never-ending: toothbrush, strawberry-flavored toothpaste in case Thomas insisted on buying the minty one again, coloring books and crayons in case Caleb got bored, a random stuffed animal Stiles found on Caleb’s bed.

It was ten in the morning when he realized he hadn’t even woken Caleb up to eat breakfast. Thomas had texted him on Thursday to let him know he’d be there at half-past eleven. That meant Stiles had one hour and a half left with Caleb before they were separated for two whole days.

“I want pine,” Caleb said as soon as Stiles sat him down on the counter. His hair was a mess, and he was still in his PJs. “Please, daddy?”

“I don’t have any pineapple, love. I think you’re going to have to drink some milk and—look, Melissa’s cookies are still good to eat!”

“Store?”

Stiles poured the milk into Caleb’s plastic cup. It was almond milk, but it’d have to do. “No, we can’t go to the store today. Remember I told you dad was going to come to pick you up this weekend?”

Caleb watched as Stiles arranged cookies on a plate. He was frowning. 

“You’re going to visit Grandma Helen,” Stiles babbled on. “I’m sure she’ll take you to the park if you’re good, and you—oh, shit, I forgot to pack your swimming trunks in case you go to the pool.”

“Bad word, daddy.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said. He helped Caleb off the counter with his free hand and then carried the cookies and milk to the table. “You have to eat something before your dad gets here, or else you might get sick on the way to Grandma’s.”

Caleb didn’t want to sit where Stiles had intended him to. Instead, he hovered by Stiles’ chair, waiting for Stiles to sit down first so he could, most likely, sit on his lap.

Stiles complied gladly. He’d have two days to be alone.

“You’re going to have a lot of fun, baby. Are you excited?”

Caleb made a humming sound as he munched on his first cookie. “Can you make pancakes tomorrow, daddy? With sprinklers.”

“Sprinkles,” Stiles said, and paused. He’d thought he’d been clear enough. “Caleb, I’m not going to Grandma’s. It’ll be just you and your dad for the rest of the weekend.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a lot of things to do here,” Stiles said. He didn’t know how much of the word break-up Caleb could understand. “It’s like when you have to stay at Grandpa John’s for a few days so daddy can… work. You like that, don’t you? Well, this is going to be even more fun.”

Caleb put his cookie down. “But I want you to come with me, daddy.”

“I know you do, baby. Come on, eat your breakfast, please. I promise if I could go with you, I would.”

Surprisingly, Caleb did as he was told. He ate his cookie in silence and downed his milk when Stiles pointed out he needed to drink as well. When he was done, he let himself be carried to his room so Stiles could change him out of his pajamas.

“That one,” Caleb said, pointing at the t-shirt Derek had lent him last night. “I want that one, daddy. Please?”

The doorbell rang twice.

“Okay,” Stiles said without thinking. He slipped Derek’s shirt over Caleb’s head and let the kid keep the joggers he’d slept in. It wasn’t as though he was going to a fashion event. “Come on. We have to go before your dad gets impatient.”

It was faster to pick Caleb up than it was to lead him around by the hand. Stiles made sure to grab the bag of clothes he’d packed and an extra coat just in case it got colder, and then walked out of the apartment with an armful of Caleb and bag.

There was no elevator in their building, so Stiles had to take the stairs. He walked very slowly, making sure his foot was planted firmly on each step. By the time he’d reached the front door, his arms felt ready to fall off, his lungs burning. He really was out of shape.

Caleb hid behind his leg as soon as Stiles put him down. His little hands were tickling Stiles’ thigh through the fabric of his jeans, and Stiles had to make an inhumane effort not to laugh.

Thomas was leaning against his car when they stepped outside. He looked the same as the last time Stiles had seen him: brown hair, too small t-shirt, a smile that meant little.

“Took you long enough to come down,” he said as a greeting.

_ Well _ , Stiles thought,  _ some things just don’t change. _

Stiles ignored him. He crouched down in front of Caleb and pulled him into a hug, tight enough that his boy was squirming a bit towards the end. Before pulling away completely, Stiles kissed his cheek twice.

“I love you,” Stiles said. “Please be good for Grandma. And send her kisses from me.”

Caleb kissed Stiles’ cheek too. “Love you. Can I have Chase for the ride, daddy?”

Thomas let out a sigh. It sounded frustrated.

“Of course. He’s in your bag, baby. You can look for it in the car, okay?” Stiles stood up. His eyes fell on Thomas again. “Can you call me when you get there? I want to make sure you arrived safely.”

“Why wouldn’t we? I’m a great driver.”

“That’s not—you know what? Doesn’t matter. Just please call me. Or tell your mom to text me.”

Thomas bent down to pick Caleb up and get him into the car, and then stopped. He froze mid-movement, and for a second Stiles was worried about him. He looked like someone had hit him on the back with a heavy shovel.

Stiles frowned. “Are you—”

“Since when do you let your new Alpha dress our kid?”

“What?”

Thomas grabbed the sleeve of Caleb’s shirt roughly. “And now you want to act surprised? He reeks of whatever dude is fucking you these days.”

“Daddy,” Caleb said. He sounded unsure. “Dad said a bad word.”

“I know,” Stiles replied quickly. Things were falling apart faster than he could have ever predicted. “He’s sorry, baby. Listen, Thomas, can we have this conversation once he’s in the car?”

“Like fucking hell he’s getting into my car with that shirt on him.”

This time, Caleb did not point out the obvious.

“Fine. I’ll change him. Just wait a second and I’ll—”

“I want this shirt,” Caleb said, sniffing. “It smells nice.”

Thomas looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Caleb, take that shirt off. Now.”

“But daddy said—”

“I don’t care,” Thomas said. And then, more firmly, the way one would speak to a misbehaving dog, “Take that shirt off.”

Stiles picked Caleb up. Instantly, the boy hid his face in Stiles’ neck. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

“Like what? I drove two hours to pick him up and you dress him in another dude’s clothes? Are you so reckless with money you can’t afford to dress our kid?”

Caleb’s arms around Stiles’ neck were starting to hurt. Stiles put his hand on the back of Caleb’s head, to keep him from looking up, and tried his best to ignore his own fluttering heart. 

There were a lot of things Stiles could have said to that.  _ What money? You don’t pay child support, asswipe, _ did not sound like the most mature response. Stiles didn’t want to have this conversation with Caleb around, but he also didn’t want his kid to think it was okay to treat people like this. 

“I don’t owe you an explanation of what I do in my free time,” Stiles said. “I shouldn’t have put him in this shirt, but I wasn’t thinking about fu—freaking smells, Thomas. I’m not a werewolf.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what you do in your free time, but keep Caleb out of it. Find someone to babysit him on your date nights, for fuck’s sake. Or is his babysitter an Alpha?”

“It’s none of your business who spends time with him.”

“Oh, really? Because last time I took him with me you bitched for hours about my friends posting pictures of him on Instagram. You’re a hypocrite, Stiles.”

Stiles carded his fingers through Caleb’s hair. It was getting long, he thought offhandedly, soon he’d need to get it cut. 

“I think it’s best if he stays here today,” Stiles said. “With me. I can drive him to your mom’s house tomorrow if she wants to see him. Or she could always come—”

Thomas let out a dry laugh. “You can’t keep me from seeing my own kid. I drove here, I’m taking him with me.”

Stiles hesitated. He knew, rationally, that Thomas wouldn’t hurt Caleb. Thomas was many things, but a child abuser wasn’t one of them. He was only being bitchy because he was territorial, and because he and Stiles had never really gotten along except for those first few months in college when everything was beautiful and nice and new. 

Stiles didn’t want to stand in the way of Caleb having a relationship with his father. He didn’t want to be that dad.

“Love,” Stiles said softly against Caleb’s temple. “We’re just talking, that’s all. I’m sorry you had to hear us being yucky adults.”

Caleb blinked a few times. Stiles could feel the flutter of his eyelashes against the skin of his neck.

“But now…” Stiles swallowed. “Now you need to go with dad. I promise I’ll keep your shirt here with me so you can put it on when you come back. Can you let me change you?”

“Don’t wash it,” Caleb said in a small voice. Then, like an afterthought: “Please.”

Stiles got to work quickly. It was warm outside, enough so that Stiles didn’t worry about Caleb catching a cold. It only took Stiles a second to slip Caleb’s shirt off and put another one on, all under Thomas’ stare.

Once Caleb was strapped to his seat, Stiles shut the door of Thomas’ car and stepped back, all the angry words he’d been trying to keep contained almost slipping out of his mouth when he caught sight of Thomas’ face.

“He still reeks,” Thomas said. “I’ll have to drive with the windows down.”

Stiles’ head was starting to throb. “Then do so. It’s not a big deal. Do you have to be a dick about everything?”

“Whatever. I’ve already transferred the money to your account, so stop pestering me about it.”

Stiles stood there, miserable, and said nothing. He didn’t have enough energy to argue, not when he’d slept a total of five hours after getting home so late from Derek’s get together. He watched as Thomas got into the car and focused on the only thing that mattered: Caleb.

“Bye, baby,” Stiles said, waving. Thomas had already rolled the windows down, so Caleb could hear him. “Be good, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

Caleb’s little waves were making Stiles’ chest hurt. A little too quietly, he said, “Bye, daddy.”

And then they were gone.

*

**_come have lunch w me and kira_ **

**_stiles?_ **

**_i’m calling your dad if you don’t reply_ **

**_i’m fine scotty_ **

**_there’s a lot of stuff i need to do at home_ **

**_raincheck ?_ **

**_we’ll be over tmrw_ **

**_don’t forget to eat!!_ **

**_and drink water_ **

**_it’s only two days lol_ **

**_i’ll be fire_ **

**_fine**_ **

**_well damn_ **

*

When he was still at college, Stiles’ Saturday nights were a mix of studying for his exams, partying, and binge-watching the worst TV shows ever known to mankind. 

Then he met Thomas. 

One of his routines for the weekend as a broke college student consisted of ordering Chinese food and eating in bed while watching a Discovery Channel documentary. It was lame, but Stiles enjoyed it.

He tried to do the same now that Caleb was gone: order some egg rolls and Chow Mein, drink a beer or two, watch a shitty alien documentary on his laptop, and pass out. He deserved all this self-indulgence after the shit he’d had to put up with, not only from Thomas but from his editor as well. How was Stiles’ fault that some runes literally looked the same but had different meanings?

But just when he was about to call his favorite Chinese restaurant, his phone started vibrating with incoming texts from Derek.

**_Hello._ **

**_I made too much food again._ **

**_Maybe I could drop some off at your place?_ **

It sounded… very much not like Derek. Stiles wondered if maybe this was Erica meddling with Derek’s phone, but he decided free, home-cooked food was more important. He texted Derek back a bunch of emojis and a big  **_YES!_ ** along with his address, and lay down on the couch ready to learn more about how Martians had been living in the drain for two decades.

The sound of the doorbell ringing startled him. Barely five minutes had passed by.

“Hi,” Stiles said as he opened the door to his building. He didn’t expect Derek to look as good as he did: leather jacket, tight jeans, a Henley. Stiles was wearing pajamas. “Uh, do you want to come up?”

Derek nodded. He made his way inside, two plastic bags full of stuff in each hand, and followed Stiles up the stairs without uttering another word. It should have felt awkward, but it wasn’t. Maybe Caleb wasn’t the only one getting used to Derek being around.

“Sorry for the mess,” Stiles said as soon as they stepped into his apartment. There were toys everywhere, a Peppa Pig blanket on the couch, clean clothes that needed to be folded in the laundry basket by the door. “I was hoping to get some tidying up done this weekend, but I guess I’ll start tomorrow.”

Derek stood in Stiles’ tiny living room for a full minute before saying, “Where can I put these?”

The bags, of course. “Oh, yes. Sorry. Er, is the kitchen okay? What did you even bring, dude? I mean Derek, not dude. If you want to we can eat together. I’ve got some root beer if you’re interested.”

A beat of silence, and then, “Okay.”

Stiles disappeared into the kitchen to get some plates and glasses and the two beers he’d been planning on chugging tonight. When he returned, he noticed Derek was watching him without blinking.

“So,” Stiles said as he sat down on the couch and set everything on the coffee table. “Shall we eat?”

Derek slowly sat down next to him, leaving enough room between them so their bodies wouldn’t accidentally touch. That was nice, Stiles told himself. Disappointing, but nice. Pulling everything out of the bags took Derek a few minutes, which Stiles spent staring in disbelief at all the Tupperware containers Derek kept piling on the table.

Rice, chicken breast, baked potatoes, brownies. It was like a weekly meal prep video in real life.

“How on earth did you accidentally make all this extra food?”

Derek shrugged. He’d taken off his leather jacket while Stiles was in the kitchen, and now his muscles were on full display. “I had a very large family growing up. It’s—a werewolf thing.”

“I would love to know more,” Stiles said, serving the food. It was weird how easy it was to talk to Derek, but then again… Talking had always been Stiles’ strong suit. “I mean, I know the basics about werewolf culture, you know? You guys don’t shift every time the full moon is out, you don’t shift every night, silver hurts you… The usual. But everything else is a mystery to me. I mean, I’ve read a lot of stuff online but I don’t even know which parts are true and which ones are—”

“Didn’t you date a werewolf?” Derek said. He must have felt Stiles tense, because he said, “It’s just strange that you don’t know more.”

Stiles picked at his food with his fork. Chicken had never looked more appetizing than it did now, and yet his stomach was clenched tight. “Thomas and I dated for, like, four months. It was mostly…” Sex, Stiles had been about to say, but then he thought better of it. It hadn’t been only about sex for him, and the mark on his neck proved it hadn’t been that way for Thomas either. “Let’s just say he didn’t like talking about it. He’d probably dated a werewolf fetichist or something before me, I don’t know.”

“Ask me,” Derek said suddenly. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Is it true some of you can fully shift?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God,” Stiles said through a mouthful of rice. It tasted like herbs and heaven. “Okay, okay. Is there a higher chance of getting pregnant with triplets if the father is a werewolf?”

“False,” Derek said, and he sounded amused. “I’ve never met anyone who had triplets.”

“Do you eat raw meat during the full moon?”

“I—sometimes.”

Stiles let out a dreamy sigh. This was way better than Google. “You can talk to actual wolves.”

“Wolves don’t talk, Stiles.”

“Okay, fine. You can understand them. Like, you know how in Twilight Jacob could read his packmates’ thoughts when he was—”

“I can’t believe you like Twilight.”

“Have you ever seen the movies?”

Derek looked at him sideways. “No.”

“Good,” Stiles said, reaching for the remote. He put on Netflix. “We’re watching the first one right now.”

To his surprise, Derek didn’t fight him on it. He ate slowly and let Stiles babble over Kristen Stewart’s lines. By the time they’d made it to the part where James starts to hunt Bella down, Stiles was feeling the effects of his shitty day. 

After the third time he nodded off, Stiles woke up to his cheek plastered to Derek’s shoulder. Derek didn’t seem to mind, and so Stiles told himself it meant nothing. Maybe they were both lonely. Maybe Derek hadn’t accidentally made too much food. 

Edward was sucking on Bella’s wrist when Stiles nodded off again.

*

Stiles woke up three hours later to his phone ringing incessantly. His neck hurt from the position he’d been in—body all twisted, face on Derek’s shoulder—but when he saw it was Thomas calling his chest became very, very tight.

Derek watched him pick up. He’d paused New Moon.

“Is Caleb okay?”

“ _ Hello to you too _ ,” Thomas said on the other side of the phone. There was wailing in the background, a sound Stiles was way too familiar with. “ _ I’m going to hand him the phone and I want you to calm him down. Otherwise I’m driving him back right fucking now.” _

Stiles felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Is he hurt? What—”

The wailing grew louder, cutting him off. Helen was there too, Stiles realized. He could hear her trying to say soothing things—it’s okay, it’s fine, calm down—but the crying was incessant. 

“Caleb? Baby, can you stop crying for a second? What’s wrong?”

“ _ Daddy, I want to go home. _ ”

Stiles swallowed down the bile in his mouth. “Aren’t you having a good time? Grandma told me you went to see some turtles. What’s—honey, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“ _ —don’t want to _ ,” Caleb went on crying. “ _ And—and I miss my— _ ”

“Caleb—”

The crying grew dim again, and Thomas said, “ _ He’s been crying for an hour, Stiles. Why the hell didn’t you tell me— _ ”

“I thought he’d be fine. He’s slept without me before. He’s… What did you do to him?”

“ _ What? I didn’t do anything. I had to force him to take a bath because he smelled like your stupid boyfriend. Is that child abuse now? Forcing your kid to shower?” _

Stiles bit down on his fist, teeth sinking into the flesh between his knuckles. “Put him on again.”

“ _ No. He’s screaming his head off. I’m taking him back to Beacon Hills.” _

“Let me talk to your mom,” Stiles said, and he didn’t care if it sounded like he was begging. “It’s almost one in the morning, you can’t drive all the way here.”

“ _ Fucking watch me _ .”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but the sighing sound of the call being disconnected startled him into silence. He stared at the coffee table for some time, trying to will his heart into calming the fuck down, and only when turned his head left did he remember Derek was still there.

“God,” Stiles said, and tried to offer him a smile. It was messy. “You must be thinking ‘damn, I’m so glad I don’t have kids’ right now.”

Derek was very tense. Sometimes his frown was funny, like that time when he’d told Isaac off playfully to amuse Caleb, and sometimes it was a concentration look. Now Derek looked angry.

“He shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

Stiles rubbed at his eyes. He was ashamed to admit his knuckles came away damp. “It’s fine. I mean, I know it’s not fine, but we don’t usually talk so… His mom’s birthday is on Monday and she wanted to spend this weekend with Caleb to have an early celebration. It’s just… She’s not like Thomas.”

Derek’s frown didn’t let up. If anything, his eyes flashed. “She raised him.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t judge other parents. I know how shitty it can get.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I know,” Stiles said. He took in a deep breath through the nose, then let it out through his mouth. “I want Caleb to have a family. You said werewolves are all about their pack and I—don’t have that. I can’t give him that. And Helen has always been kind to me, to us. She sends me money for groceries all the time, she never forgets Caleb’s birthday. It’s—I wanted him to have fun.”

Stiles’ voice broke on the last word. He did not try to speak again.

“It’s going to be okay,” Derek said. Stiles expected the words to sound awkward and stilted, but they didn’t. Derek spoke with authority, with pure certainty. It was as though there was no other possible outcome. “We can make a nest for him if… It’s usually for babies, but he’s only three and a half. It’ll put him to sleep right away when he gets here.” Derek studied Stiles’ face. “Or I could leave.”

“Please don’t. I don’t—I want to make the nest. Do you need hay or something? I don’t have any hay. Oh, God, I’m such a—”

Derek put both hands on Stiles’ shoulders. The touch was warm and gentle, and it’d been so long since anyone but Scott had touched Stiles like that he did not even know how to react. His body sagged, trying to soak up as much of Derek’s energy as possible.

“We don’t need hay,” Derek said. He had the most beautiful eyes Stiles had ever seen, besides Caleb’s. “Just pillows. You have pillows, don’t you?”

Stiles nodded stupidly.

“And blankets. That’s all we need. Maybe a shirt that smells like you.”

“We have two hours,” Stiles said. He checked his phone to see if Thomas had texted him, and when his brain had unthawed he realized what he was asking of Derek. “Wait. You don’t have to do this, Derek. It’s way too late.”

“Stiles.”

“By the time they get here, it’ll be three in the morning. I can’t ask you to stay until then.”

“I want to,” Derek said, standing up from the couch. He looked around the room and then back at Stiles. “Where do you keep the blankets?”

Still in a daze, Stiles got up and walked Derek to the closet at the end of the hall. He let Derek take them out, one by one, and then showed him where Caleb’s room was.

“It doesn’t really smell like him,” Derek said, watching the bed from the doorway.

“He usually sleeps with me. We could… We could set the nest up in my room. Do you think that will make it better?”

Wordlessly, Derek followed him to his room, which was a complete and utter mess. Stiles was too tired and worried to feel ashamed, so he just focused on the task at hand, stripping the used sheets off the bed and throwing fresh ones on. He kicked his dirty shirts into the corner and made sure the pillowcases he’d grabbed were clean.

Derek stepped in when he was done and set the blankets on the bed.

“Is it like a blanket fort?”

“Not really,” Derek said as he handed Stiles a blanket. “It’s more about layers. My mom used to do this for me and my sisters when we had nightmares. Here, I’ll show you what I mean.”

Stiles watched Derek work. He made it all look effortlessly beautiful, arranging blankets and pillows so that whoever lay there ended up being cocooned from all sides. It was the coziest thing Stiles had ever seen, and his chest hurt when he thought that maybe this was a thing all werewolf pups needed. 

The parenting books Stiles had read when he was pregnant had never mentioned it. Thomas had never mentioned it.

“There,” Derek said as he took a step back. “Does he have a favorite stuffed animal or a security blanket?”

“Yes, but he took them with him.”

Derek nodded. “Then I guess all we have to do is wait. It’s really going to be okay, Stiles. He’ll be here before you know it.”

Yes, Stiles thought. And so would Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i know when i first posted this fic i said there'd be only five chapters, but i guess i miscalculated my enthusiasm haha. hope that's okay. this won't be a terribly long fic, so don't worry about that.   
> sorry that the derek-thomas confrontation didn't happen this chapter. i promise it's coming! i just didn't want this chapter to be too long.
> 
> thank you for reading!


	5. Five

**Five**

“They’re here,” Derek said.

Stiles stood up from the couch, his palms sweating. “Can you smell them from here?”

Derek followed Stiles to the door, and hesitated before saying, “No, but I can hear Caleb crying.”

Stiles did not stick around long enough to hear more. He pushed open the door of his apartment and practically ran down the stairs, something he never did when Caleb was around because he wanted his kid to know stairs were dangerous. He felt sweaty by the time he’d reached the front door, hot and cold at the same time, but he shoved his feelings aside and tried to locate Thomas’ car in the dark street.

Derek, under Stiles’ orders, had stayed at the apartment.

When Thomas’ car came into view, Stiles wanted to throw up. Now he could hear what had been so loud and clear to Derek upstairs. Caleb was crying hysterically, a scene Stiles had very seldom witnessed. Caleb never misbehaved like this. Ever.

“What are you waiting for?” Thomas said from the driver's seat. “Take him out of the car, Stiles. I have another two-hour drive waiting for me.”

Stiles ignored him. He opened the car door as fast as he could and was instantly rewarded by Caleb’s small hands on the front of his shirt. With clammy and shaky hands, Stiles tried to undo the straps of his car seat.

“Come on,” Stiles said, placing a crying Caleb on his hip and trying to make him bounce a bit. “It’s okay, baby. You had a rough night, that’s all.”

Thomas snorted. “ _ I _ had a rough night.”

“Shut up,” Stiles snapped. His nerves were frayed and the sounds Caleb was making were driving him mad. Stiles couldn’t understand how Thomas could act so indifferent. Didn’t werewolves go crazy about their cubs? “You’ve done enough harm already, so why don’t you just fucking shut up?”

Caleb’s face was very hot against Stiles’ throat. Very, very hot.

Thomas got out of the car. He circled it and stood right in front of Stiles, his face contorted into a frown that was almost a half-shift. “You spoil him too much, Stiles. Throwing tantrums because of a bath? He needs to see a shrink or something. Where is all of my money going, huh? You said you were taking him to a—” And then Thomas stopped talking and started sniffing. 

Stiles took a step back. Caleb’s bag was still in the car, but Stiles did not have a way of grabbing it. Caleb was heavy in his arms, which left Stiles with no free hands.

“God, you couldn’t even wait a whole day, could you?” Thomas said. His claws were out, though he kept them to himself. For now. “It shouldn’t surprise me. I know how easy you are, after all.” Then, louder, for Derek to hear, “Hey, buddy! Don’t let this one trick you into knocking him up!”

Stiles sidestepped Thomas to get to the car. Making a huge effort, he managed to hold Caleb in a way that allowed him to get his right arm free and proceeded to snatch the bag and the stuffed dog from the back seat.

When he turned around, Thomas was walking to the front door. Derek was coming down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Stiles said to Caleb, trying to get him to stop crying completely. At least he wasn’t screaming anymore. “Don’t listen to this, okay? It’s just a game dad and I are playing. Derek too.”

Caleb did not reply, hiccuping and getting snot all over Stiles’ shirt.

“I’m calling my dad, Thomas,” Stiles said. It was enough to make Thomas pause. “And if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to throw mountain ash all over your car seats so you can’t drive anything but the police cruiser.”

Derek was almost at the bottom of the stairs. His fangs were out, but Stiles knew he did not mean to attack Thomas. If he’d wanted to, Derek could have come down a lot faster. No, Stiles thought, Derek was doing exactly as Stiles had asked him to. 

“Get out,” Stiles said again, louder this time. God, his neighbors were going to hate him. “Don’t make me ask a third time, asshole.”

Slowly, Thomas started to retreat. Stiles saw his chance and took it, walking to the door of his building as quickly as his legs allowed him. All he wanted was to be in bed with Caleb and forget this day had ever happened. All he wanted was for Caleb to stop crying.

Derek shouldered him as Stiles stepped inside. He was going in the opposite direction.

“Derek?” Stiles said. He thought of grabbing his arm to stop him but then realized his arms were full. Caleb and the bag and the stuffed animal and Stiles couldn’t drop any of them. “Derek, don’t—it’s not worth it.”

Derek ignored him. He was out the door before Stiles could get another word in, and from where he was standing Stiles saw that Thomas had stopped walking to his car. It took Derek less than a full minute to reach Thomas, both of them snarling at each other like angry kids in a playground.

Stiles held Caleb tighter but did not move towards the stairs. He wanted to be there in case things got out of control. 

“Hey,” Stiles said in a low voice, rocking Caleb back and forth. “You’re home, baby. It’s—you can sleep with daddy tonight, okay?”

Caleb had obviously tired himself out. He was still breathing heavily, but it seemed he’d found some comfort in touching Stiles’ hair, pulling slightly at the long locks he could barely reach.

Derek was talking. He had Thomas pushed against his car, one hand fisted in Thomas’ shirt. They were far enough that Stiles couldn’t make out the words, but by Thomas’ furious expression he knew things would only get uglier. Thomas had never been one to back down from a challenge.

As if reading Stiles’ thoughts, Thomas looked over Derek’s shoulder at him and said, loud and clear, “I’m taking you to court for this, you stupid little—”

Derek’s fist moved faster than Stiles’ mouth. The sound of the blow carried, and it seemed to fill the entire street. With one more shove, Derek let Thomas go, who in turn slid to the ground and started coughing, dark blood running down his face.

He was already healing by the time Derek slammed the front door shut.

Involuntarily, Stiles flinched away when Derek stepped closer. The look of hurt that flashed across Derek’s face made Stiles wish he could take that small reaction back.

Once his fangs had receded, Derek spoke in a low voice, as if scared he’d wake someone up. “How is he?”

“You tell me,” Stiles said shakily. He tried to run his fingers through Caleb’s hair, but his hands were trembling too much. “What does he smell like?”

“Relief, mostly.”

And fear, Stiles guessed. But Derek was kind enough not to mention it. 

“I think it’s best if you stay the night,” Stiles said as he slowly made his way up the stairs. He was feeling a bit faint, and the last thing he wanted was to drop Caleb on his head. Derek was just a step behind, carrying the bag and stuffed animal Stiles had handed him. “Thomas is really impulsive, and he might stick around—”

“Stop worrying,” Derek said. “We can talk about it after.”

And yes, Stiles could do that. Stiles could definitely ignore this issue until Caleb was in bed, fast asleep, and this whole nightmare was behind them. 

He focused on that as he climbed the rest of the stairs and then struggled to fit the key into the hole. Once inside, Derek slipped past him to drop the bag by the couch, then motioned for Stiles to follow him down the hall.

Stiles’ bed was a mess of blankets and pillows and clothes—Derek had insisted he dropped there some of his most recently used shirts—but the moment Caleb’s back touched the mattress he stopped crying. 

Like this, with Caleb lying on his back already half asleep, Stiles could finally take a good look at his face. Caleb’s eyes were very red, like his cheeks and the tip of his runny nose, and he was doing something he hadn’t done in forever. Stiles considered prying the thumb away from his mouth but decided against it at the last second. He figured Caleb deserved it.

Stiles changed him out of his clothes and left him in nothing but a pull-up. Caleb was warm and sweaty, which meant a bath might have made him feel better, but Stiles was too tired to even think of carrying him into the tub. 

Derek hovered by the bed, awkward and unsure. He watched Stiles crawl into the mess of blankets and place Caleb in the middle of the bed, face down this time. 

He’d done so much for them, Stiles thought. And the couch was so uncomfortable, the strings boring holes into the back of anyone who dared sleep there… It just made sense to ask him to stay.

“He likes your scent,” Stiles said, and it came out like a rasp. He could barely keep his eyes open. “Can you—”

Derek nodded and shifted closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, which made a groaning sound at the added weight of his body. The last thing Stiles saw before sleep dragged him under was Derek’s huge hand on Caleb’s back, rubbing wide circles.

*

Stiles opened his eyes to find the spot next to him on the bed empty. It didn’t surprise him because sometimes Caleb woke up before he did and went into the living room to watch cartoons or play with his toys on his own. What did surprise him was the smell of pancakes.

And the sound of laughter.

His heart fluttered when he got out of bed and, very silently, made his way towards the kitchen, making sure to stay out of sight so he could spy on what was happening. By the time he remembered Derek could hear him no matter how silent Stiles tried to be, he’d already reached the doorway.

Caleb was sitting on the counter, baby legs swinging, his cheeks the color of cherries. He was the one laughing, and it didn’t take long for Stiles to figure out why.

Derek turned away from the stove—and yes, those were pancakes with real maple syrup and cinnamon and pineapple—and made a funny face at Caleb, going cross-eyed with his tongue out. 

Clapping and laughing, Caleb said, “Again!”

Only one of Derek’s fangs descended. He looked like a lunatic.

Caleb laughed even harder, tiny fists to his mouth as if that could keep the laughter contained. Stiles had never seen him like this. He’d never heard Caleb laugh this way with anyone but him. Even Scott struggled to make Caleb smile when he was in a bad mood.

And now Derek was—

“Daddy!” Caleb said, face turned towards Stiles. He was already making grabby hands. “ _ Daddy _ , did you see Derek’s face? He’s so silly.”

Stiles walked into the kitchen and tried to keep his eyes on Caleb. It was hard, considering Derek was shirtless, standing in the middle of the room making pancakes and looking like a Vogue model while doing it. Every time Derek breathed, a different muscle moved. 

“He’s very silly,” Stiles said as he picked Caleb up. He cleared his throat before turning to Derek. “Hey, I’m—”

“Don’t,” Derek said, skillet in hand. God, those abs. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

Derek flipped the pancake with ease. “If anyone’s sorry it’s me. I shouldn’t have intruded in your kitchen, but I woke up early and thought you could use some cheering up.”

Caleb’s eyes were on the plate of pineapple slices on the table. He was such a weird kid.

“Derek, I’m really sorry you had to…” Meet Thomas? See how crazy Stiles’ little broken family was? “Witness that. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

“I was thinking maybe Isaac could watch Caleb today while we talk. Or Scott, if you think that’s a better choice.”

Oh. Stiles had really fucked up last night. He’d fucked up so greatly that now Derek wanted to have a talk with him, which obviously was code for  _ you and your kid are too much to handle _ . In a single night, Thomas and Stiles had both ruined this for Caleb. Thomas by being his usual self, and Stiles by allowing visitation in the first place.

Stiles gave him a nod and a fake smile. There was no reason why they couldn’t end things and remain amicable. “Sure. Let’s just eat breakfast first, big guy. Show us what kind of pancake maker you are.”

“I want pine,” Caleb said as Stiles lowered him on his chair. It was higher than the rest, a present from Jackson. “Daddy, Derek said he could make cake with only pine. No gross brown stuff.”

Stiles looked at Derek in exasperation. “That brown stuff is chocolate. Can you believe my kid doesn’t like chocolate? Who on earth doesn’t like chocolate?”

Derek placed the ginormous stack of pancakes on the table. It smelled like sugar and vanilla and happiness, and Stiles had to bite his own tongue to keep from letting out any embarrassing sounds.

He was going to miss Derek’s cooking so much. Maybe it wouldn’t be too much to ask him for some of his recipes.

“Chocolate is overrated,” Derek said. “There are some organic brands with less sugar, made for werewolves. I could get some bars for Caleb to try.”

Derek was just being nice for Caleb’s sake, Stiles knew. After today, it was pretty obvious that Derek would start ignoring Stiles’ texts, start making up excuse after excuse to weasel out of his play dates with Caleb. 

“—the swings,” Caleb was saying when Stiles zoned back in. A pineapple chunk almost slipped past his lips. “I always go with Grandpa.”

“That’s great,” Derek said, and he sounded genuine. “Can I cut up your pancake, pup?”

Caleb hummed. He watched with wide eyes as Derek cut his food for him, and then opened his mouth wide when Derek lifted the fork to his mouth. Stiles stared at them, unable to move a muscle or even blink. 

Breakfast ended quickly, Caleb and Derek both covered in sticky syrup. Stiles had barely touched his food, too busy feeling like shit, and when the time came to give Caleb a bath, Stiles was the first on his feet.

“I’ll be quick,” Stiles said to Derek, already pulling the messy shirt off Caleb and heading towards the bathroom. “And then we can… talk.”

Derek frowned. “Stiles, it’s not—”

“Just give me five, okay? I’ll be right back.”

After filling the tub with warm water, Stiles turned around to finish undressing Caleb. His son babbled about the things he’d talked to Derek about while Stiles had been asleep, discourse on Paw Patrol and Disney movies. He let Stiles rub shampoo into his hair and then rinse it off without asking for any toys.

“How do you feel about spending some time with Uncle Scott, baby?”

Caleb frowned and stopped playing with the bubbles. “But Derek is home.”

“I know, but Derek has to go to his own home and I have to talk to him about adult things. Yucky stuff.”

“Oh,” Caleb said. He touched the edge of the tub. “Can Derek sleep here tonight, daddy?”

Stiles was so fucking stupid. He’d let his kid get attached to a complete stranger that didn’t want anything to do with him, with them. His dad had been right, Stiles was just too impulsive sometimes, too naive. And now Caleb was going to pay the price.

“In the tub?” Stiles said in a high voice, trying to play it all off as a joke. “I don’t think Derek fits in this tub, love.”

Caleb huffed. “In your bed, daddy. Like last night.”

“Did you really like that?”

“Yes.” Caleb said, nodding and nodding and nodding. “And Derek said to ask you because it’s your house.”

Stiles carefully took Caleb out of the water and wrapped him in his purple towel. It was only a matter of seconds before he was completely dry, hair sticking out in all directions, and clinging to Stiles like a koala.

“Okay,” Stiles said, and pressed a loud kiss to Caleb’s damp cheek. It made Caleb giggle. “I’ll ask Derek.”

*

Stiles checked his phone on the ride to Scott’s house. He had a bunch of missed calls, some from Helen and the rest from Thomas. There were over fifteen unread messages.

**_I’m suing your boyfriend for assault_ **

**_If you think this is over you’re so fucking wrong_ **

**_Answer your fucking phone_ **

**_I’m going to take Caleb away from you_ **

**_You think I won’t?? Watch me take you to court_ **

**_You’ll lose in less than a week_ **

**_I’ll get full fucking custody and then you’ll have to beg me to see our kid_ **

*

The café Derek chose for their talk was one that had recently opened. Stiles had walked past it many times, but he’d always been too busy to go inside and see what the fuss was all about. Scott had been there for the inauguration, partly because Kira loved sweet things, and partly because Scott had heard the owner was a fellow werewolf. 

They sat down close to the east wall, Stiles trapped between the booth and the table, and no sooner had they opened their menus than the waitress approached them. Lily, her name tag read. She seemed skittish.

Derek ordered a coffee for himself with a fancy name Stiles did not even bother pretending he’d heard before. He looked calm, collected. And why shouldn’t he be? Derek was an adult, and sometimes adults had to break off arrangements. 

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” Stiles said. “Thank you, Lily.”

With Lily gone, Derek’s eyes were on Stiles. They didn’t move away from him as they sat in silence until Lily returned with Derek’s coffee and Stiles’ lemonade. It was awkward in a way Stiles had never felt around Derek.

“Stiles, I—”

“It’s okay, dude. I mean Derek.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s fine that you don’t want to keep seeing Caleb,” Stiles said, ripping his paper napkin in little pieces. “I know I threatened you not to drop him the first time we talked, but I get it. It’s a lot, and what happened with Thomas yesterday wasn’t—”

“Stiles, that’s not why we’re—I’m not going to stop playing with Caleb.”

Stiles could only blink. “Oh.”

“I asked you to come here because,” Derek said, and paused. He looked almost nervous and the sight made Stiles smile a little. “I’ve been keeping something from you.”

“Are you a murderer?”

“No. What kind of question is that?”

Stiles shrugged. “If you’re not a murderer or a rapist or a child abuser then I don’t care about whatever you’re about to say, du—Derek. You don’t owe me an explanation for anything that you—”

“I do,” Derek said, effectively shutting Stiles up. “I really do, Stiles. It’s… I lied. To you. When you asked me why I smelled so sweet to Caleb.”

“Are you not a born Alpha werewolf?”

“I am.”

“Then what did you lie about? It seems to me you told me everything there is to know.”

“Caleb is drawn to me,” Derek said very slowly, “because I’m very drawn to you. It has nothing to do with me being an Alpha werewolf. Born or bitten, it’d be the same.”

Stiles choked on his lemonade. It took everything in him not to spray Derek. “To me? Why?”

Derek was silent for a long time. He kept his eyes on his coffee, as if it hurt him to look at Stiles. “Alphas have mates, Stiles. It’s—we can’t help it.”

Imprinting. God, Stiles thought in a panic, what kind of Twilight bullshit was this? “You’re Caleb’s mate?”

“No,” Derek said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m trying to—do you really not get it?”

And of course Stiles knew some werewolves had mates. He’d read about it once or twice in some dusty old book, but he’d thought both partners had to be werewolves for that to happen. He’d thought it really was like the Imprinting Twilight version, where one person looked at the other and their whole universe rearranged or something. He’d thought it’d be painfully obvious.

Except maybe it had been. Stiles was on the strongest suppressants in the market, the kind that blocked out all kinds of pheromones. Maybe that’s why Derek hadn’t smelled strange to Stiles, just a bit sweeter than most. Maybe the reason why he felt so at peace with Derek around had nothing to do with how good Derek was to Caleb or how great of a cook he was.

Which reminded Stiles of that Friday night dinner. Derek had gone all out for him. Was that something werewolves did, some kind of courting ritual? Was Stiles being courted?

“Holy shit,” Stiles said, almost knocking his still full glass over. “You’re talking about me.”

Derek, looking like a kicked puppy, lowered his eyes again. “I should have told you. We don’t have to do anything about it, but you should have known from the start. I… it was unfair. I shouldn’t have lied like that to you.”

“Then why did you?”

Derek almost flinched. “I thought it’d creep you out. Some people don’t believe in this stuff. I used to think it was all bullshit until I—” He let out a dry laugh. It was sad. “Until Caleb came running up to me in the grocery store, drenched in your scent.”

Stiles twisted around in his seat and called for Lily. His palms were sweating already, and he could feel the awkward and tentative flutter of his own heart, hope blooming inside him for the first time in years.

At Derek’s questioning eyes, he said, “I’m going to need something a lot stronger than lemonade to get through this conversation, Derek.”

And chocolatier, Stiles thought. He definitely wanted a slice of cake now that he knew Derek wasn’t going to drop out of his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i hope you're all having a great weekend. i wanted to include more domestic fluff in this chapter, but i think it's going to be even better now that stiles knows about the mate thing. now the romance begins! can't believe we're so close to 200 comments :,) 
> 
> thank you for reading!


	6. Six

**Six**

Stiles thanked Lily for the cake and the lemonade refill. He grabbed the silver spoon by his plate and only hesitated for a moment before diving into the dessert. It was layered with whipped cream, chocolate mousse, and fresh strawberries. It was, in other words, out of this world.

“Try it,” Stiles said, pushing the plate in Derek’s direction. “Oh, come on. It’s got fruit in it!”

Derek stared back at him. Surprise made him look younger, softer. It was a good look on him, Stiles decided. He liked Derek when he was scowling, but it was nice to know he had other settings than just Grumpy. 

“You’re not mad,” Derek said. “Why aren’t you mad?”

“Because I’m assuming the reason you didn’t tell me before is that we didn’t know each other at all. And in case you haven’t noticed, I have a kid with someone else already. It’s fair, Derek. Just because we’re…” Stiles hesitated. After swallowing another spoonful of delicious goodness, he went on, “Just because we’re  _ that _ it doesn’t mean we have to get married. You were testing the waters, I get it.”

Derek frowned. Well, Stiles thought, goodbye soft Derek. “So you don’t think I’m a creep?”

“Er, no.”

“I wasn’t using Caleb,” Derek said quickly. “He’s an amazing kid. I didn’t just agree to meet up with him because I wanted to keep seeing you, Stiles. It wasn’t—”

Stiles reached out to touch one of Derek’s hands on the table. Derek’s skin was very warm, feverish, the way Caleb’s sometimes got when he was upset or too excited. Stiles gave it a squeeze.

“I know you like him. I’ve seen you play with him, and cook for him, and make funny faces at him when you think I’m not looking. Besides, not liking my kid is not an option.” Stiles smiled. “He’s the cutest baby on earth. And if you didn’t like him, I would never agree to go out with you. Ever.”

Derek’s expression softened. “I know that. You wouldn’t put anyone over Caleb.”

They were both silent for a moment, their fingers still kind of interlocked. It was comfortable and intimate despite the fact that they were in public, surrounded by a dozen strangers. It was something Stiles could see himself getting used to.

“I read once that there’s a difference,” Stiles said, “between true mates and… heat mates. I didn’t think the first kind was real.”

Derek’s thumb brushed over the inside of Stiles’ wrist, once, twice. It left Stiles’ skin tingling. “Most bonded couples we know of are heat mates. Werewolves like to—own things. During ruts and heats, the urge to bite or be bitten is strongest, and so sometimes couples agree to give each other mating bites, which fade over time. True mates are different.” He looked up at Stiles’ face. “If I were to bite you, it wouldn’t fade.”

The scar on the side of Stiles’ throat ached. He knew he should tell Derek about it, that it was wrong to keep this from him, but a little voice in Stiles’ head told him it didn’t really matter. Derek knew Stiles had been with Thomas. They’d had a kid together, so maybe it was pretty obvious that they’d fucked during Stiles’ heats. 

Maybe Derek could figure out on his own what Stiles’ scar meant. And if he didn’t, Stiles told himself, then this coffee shop wasn’t the place to clear things up. Just thinking about Thomas was making Stiles dizzy.

“It’s all about reproducibility, right? We’re scientifically speaking the most fertile when we’re together.” Stiles blushed, hard. “I mean, not that we’re together. I’m just saying that if we were to be together, you know, intimately and—fuck, who even says the word intimately? Whatever. If we—”

“Yes, but there are other things that play a part in it.”

“Such as?”

Now it was Derek’s turn to blush. His dark stubble hid most of his flush away, which Stiles found delicious. “My mom always told me it was equal parts magic and biology. It’s—I know it sounds stupid, but…” He huffed, looking annoyed at himself. “Maybe there’s a reason why things happen to us.”

Stiles thought of Caleb. If Stiles had met Derek in college—hell, even in high school—then he would have never hooked up with Thomas. He would have never had Caleb.

It was a life Stiles couldn’t even want to mourn. A life without Caleb seemed like a punishment, even if it meant a degree and his father’s pride and Derek and an unmarred neck. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, letting out a deep breath. “What’s the plan then?”

Derek blinked. And yes, Stiles confirmed it right then and there: Derek was the hottest when he was surprised. “Plan?”

“We might be mates and all that, but I’ve only known you for a few weeks. Woah, that sounds insane when I say it out loud. You’ve only been in my life for less than a month and you’ve already had to deal with Thomas and—”

“I don’t care,” Derek said. The words came out strained, as though he was making an effort not to shift. “The way he treated you last night was unacceptable.”

Stiles pushed what was left of his chocolate cake around his plate with his spoon. “It’s complicated.”

Derek’s efforts doubled. He was trying to bite his tongue.

“I just think we should have a plan. We could start out with dates, like this one. Not that this one is a date, dude. I mean  _ Derek _ . I’m sorry about that, by the way, it’s a horrible habit and I’m trying to quit but for some reason, it’s very hard not to call everyone dude. If it makes you feel better, I could call you my dude to differentiate you from—”

“No.”

“No to the dates or no to the dude thing?”

“This is a date,” Derek said, “if you want it to be.”

Stiles grinned. It came to him easily, unbidden, a wellspring of happiness inside his chest. He wondered if Derek could smell this sudden happiness on him, if he had been able to smell Stiles’ arousal all these weeks despite his suppressants. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said after a moment had passed. “I want that.”

*

Stiles watched Caleb play in Kira's yard, running around and rolling on the grass like a real puppy, happy and excited and carefree. It was as though the night before had never happened.

Bitterness crept in on Stiles as he leaned against the doorway. Scott and Kira were in the kitchen, a few steps behind him, talking about Scott's next seminar on How To Properly Shave Chihuahuas.

It wasn't the house he envied. Not exactly. Stiles loved Scott, he'd seen him struggle through every finals season—cramming, always cramming—and put in the hours and after-hours of clinic work and unpleasant assistant stuff to get to where he was today. Scott had earned everything he had, and Stiles thought he deserved even more. So no, Stiles didn't envy Scott.

He envied that Scott had things Stiles wished he could give to Caleb. A big yard, big enough to fit a dog or two, enough money to travel, enough to live somewhere nicer so he could enroll Caleb in a good school. He wanted Caleb to take swimming lessons, or ballet, or play lacrosse. He wanted to have enough money at the end of each month to put away for Caleb’s college fund. 

Above all, Stiles wanted Caleb to have a family, a big pack, with brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and both of his parents. And that was something not even Scott had.

“—isn’t too weird,” Scott was saying. “Stiles, it’s not weird. Tell Kira wanting to meet Derek is a normal thing.”

“It’s an Alpha thing,” Kira said.

Stiles turned away from the yard. “You’ve met Derek.”

“I meant properly, dude. He could come over on Sunday next week to watch the game and stay for lunch.” Scott shifted a bit under Kira’s gaze. “And his pack could come over too, I guess. They’re only three more people.”

The thought of Derek meeting his friends did not scare Stiles, and that in and on itself was terrifying. He knew Derek was a good man, and there was no way Scott wouldn't like him.

But then again, that’s exactly what Stiles had thought of Thomas.

“Why the sudden interest?”

“It’s not sudden,” Scott said, rolling his eyes. “I just want to make sure he’s not an asshole pretending to be nice so he can get into your pants.”

Stiles had not told anyone about what he liked to refer to as The Mate Issue. First, before opening his mouth and spilling the beans, Stiles wanted to do more research. He wanted to be sure of what it meant, and Derek’s explanations could have used a bit more scientific data. 

“Fine. I’ll let him know.”

Scott and Kira both let out a deep breath. Had they been expecting Stiles to refuse? The awkwardness was gone the next moment, when Caleb stumbled into the house, barefoot, pieces of grass sticking to his legs.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy—”

Stiles picked him up, laughing. “Yes, baby?”

“Did you ask Derek?”

“I did,” Stile said slowly. He shared a look with Scoot over Caleb’s head. “He said he couldn’t stay over again, love. He has to get up very, very early tomorrow.”

“Oh. And tomorrow?”

Stiles gave him a kiss on the cheek, which Caleb leaned into. He was cuddlier than usual, most likely a consequence of what had happened with Thomas last night. Caleb played with the hair on Stiles’ nape, little fingers trying to hold onto the short locks.

“Derek has his own house,” Stiles said. “He’s getting it built, remember? That means he has his own room and his own bed. He sleeps there and we sleep at home.”

Caleb frowned. Then, hesitantly, he said, “Like dad. He has his house and his bed too.”

Kira coughed and announced she was going to get started on dinner. Scott said something, probably to Stiles, but Stiles was too busy feeling his heartbreak to pay him any mind. 

“Yes, baby,” Stiles said, once his voice had returned to him. He knew this conversation was going to happen eventually, but he would have rather they had it at home. “Let’s go outside so we can find your shoes, okay?”

Once in the garden, Caleb dropped his head on Stiles’ shoulder, his nose twitching against Stiles’ neck as he sniffed. He let out a sigh, the kind of sound he only ever made when Stiles was slicing fresh pineapple in the kitchen or when he was put down for a much-needed nap.

Stiles rubbed his back. “What is it, baby? Are you sleepy?”

“Sweet, daddy,” Caleb said. “You smell very sweet.”

“Like sugar?”  _ Like Derek? _

“Mhm.”

Stiles bent down to pick up Caleb’s discarded sneakers and socks. With everything that had been going on, he’d almost forgotten what time of the month it was. As he helped Caleb put on his shoes, Stiles tried to do the math in his head of how many days there were left until his heat. His scent usually didn’t start changing until two days before, but it still felt too early into the month. Maybe hanging out with Derek had triggered it.

Maybe mates were stronger than suppressants.

“Can I have a kiss?” 

Caleb pretended to think about it. He even stroked his chin, a dramatic effect that had Stiles preening. Quick as lightning, he leaned in and smacked a kiss on Stiles’ cheek. It was loud and drooly and Stiles absolutely loved it.

It was going to be fine. His heat was still days away.

*

Stiles was in the process of carrying a sleeping Caleb to the car when his phone started buzzing. Kira had cooked dinner and even given Caleb a raisin cookie, which had made Stiles almost cry with laughter. Caleb had almost refused it, thinking it was chocolate. 

He stopped and turned to face Scott, who was just a step behind on his front porch. “Dude.” Stiles whispered through a mouthful of Caleb’s hair. “Can you get my phone, please?”

“Where is it?”

“Back pocket,” Stiles said. “The right one.”

Scott plucked the phone from the pocket of Stiles’ jeans and held it in his hands awkwardly as he watched Stiles put Caleb in the car seat. At least it had stopped vibrating.

“Stiles,” Scott said, and his voice was like a warning. All growly and weird. “What the fuck is this?”

The thought that Derek might have sent him a nude photo made Stiles panic. He strapped Caleb in record time and then tried to take the phone away from Scott, who was thumbing through his text messages.

“‘Have fun trying to afford a good lawyer’,” Scott read out slowly. “‘Maybe if you get knocked up again your new boyfriend will pay for it.’ Stiles, what the fuck is this? Why is he talking to you about a lawyer?”

“Scott—”

“Why is he talking to you like this? You said you almost had no contact with him. This isn’t no contact. This is worth a restraining order.”

Stiles had a feeling there had been a lot of insults in those texts Scott hadn’t read out loud. He swallowed. “We only started talking again recently about how much money he owed me. Before that, you know I only ever talked to Helen. When he drove Caleb back home we got into an argument and—” Stiles took a deep breath. Let it out. “And Derek was there. It kind of… spiraled.”

Scott finally gave Stiles his phone back. He was frowning, but at least he hadn’t shifted. That would have made things awkward because Stiles wasn’t good at understanding Scott’s fangs-induced lisp.

“Is he threatening you with court?” Scott said. “Is he actually stupid? There’s no way he’ll make any judge believe you’re a bad dad. Or worse, that he’s better than you at raising Caleb.”

Stiles was having a hard time breathing. “Maybe he thinks he has enough evidence that I’m screwing things up. I don’t know what goes through his head, Scott, but if he—if he tries to take Caleb I’m—”

“Hey,” Scott said firmly. He put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, anchoring him. “Stop that. He’s not going to take Caleb away from you. He doesn’t even want Caleb, anyone with two eyes can see he’s a shitty dad. You feed your kid, you keep him healthy, you take him to doctor’s appointments, you—”

“What if he says I’m the reason Caleb needs to see a therapist?”

“Caleb seeing a therapist isn’t a bad thing. We’ve been over this, dude. He’s a kid and one of his parents has been in and out of his life since he was the size of an apple in your belly. Of course he’s going to have abandonment issues.”

Stiles pressed his knuckles into his eyes until he saw all kinds of funny shades and figures. “Helen told me she doesn’t support him at all. She’s tried to cut him off, but her pack—”

“He’s their Alpha,” Scott finished for him. 

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t afford a lawyer, Scott. I barely make enough money as it is, and trials are expensive.”

“If it comes to that, which it won’t, I’ll give you some money.”

Stiles gave a watery laugh. “I can’t let you do that. You and Kira have been planning to travel since you graduated. And what happens when you want to have kids of your own? I can’t even—I’ll never be able to pay you back unless I get another job. I can’t get another job because who’s going to—to take care of—”

Scott gave his shoulders a squeeze. His eyes glowed red for a second. “Breathe.”

Stiles did as he was told without complaining. In, out. He held his breath for a moment or two, until his mind seemed clear enough, and then let it out. Having Scott so close helped, and after a moment Stiles started to lean into the touch until his forehead was pressed against Scott’s shoulder.

“I’ll drive you home,” Scott said into Stiles’ hair. “Get in, loser. We’re going to sleep.”

Stiles didn’t bother telling him it was a dumb idea. Scott would have to walk all the way back to his house if he did that. Instead, he laughed—tried to, at least—and said, “Was that a Mean Girls reference?”

*

“I’ll pick him up on Wednesday,” Stiles said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Even though he was standing outside, random gusts of wind hitting him from all directions, he was still hot. “Or Thursday morning. I’m sorry you had to cancel your fishing trip to—”

“He’s my only grandson,” his dad said. “I don’t mind at all.”

It was Monday. Stiles was supposed to be working on the footnotes of his annotated manuscript, and yet here he was, dropping Caleb off at his dad’s because his heat was here early. He’d woken up with Caleb in his arms, sweating through the sheets and the pillows, and he’d known he was fucked.

Stiles had been avoiding his dad ever since their argument about Derek had happened. He had no intention of bringing the issue up again, ever, and all he wanted was to go home, lock himself in his room, and die.

But then his dad said, “Are you going back to your apartment?”

Stiles looked over his dad’s shoulder to make sure Caleb was busy watching the TV. “Where else would I go, dad?”

His dad stayed silent, but Stiles heard the words anyway.

“I’m not going to Derek’s,” Stiles said in a low voice. He knew if Caleb heard him he would start asking about Derek all over again. “And Derek isn’t coming over. It’s not like that.”

Yet, a tiny and treacherous voice told him. It wasn’t like that yet, but with enough time… Maybe, if Derek proved himself… Stiles shook his head. His thoughts were getting a bit hazy. 

“Okay, kiddo. Do you have any food at home?”

Stiles didn’t know. He’d been counting on his heat to start on Friday. “Yes.”

“Water bottles? Protein bars? You need to—”

“I know, dad.” Then, a bit less annoyed, Stiles added, “Thank you for doing this. If he gives you any trouble take him to Scott, okay? I don’t want your blood pressure going up.”

“He won’t.”

Stiles felt the urge to go into the living room and give Caleb another hug, but he stomped on it. Hard. He’d already given the poor kid way too many hugs and kisses, and even Caleb, as adorably cuddly as he was, had his limits. 

“Hey,” his dad said, startling Stiles a little. When had he put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder? “I was thinking you could come to dinner when your heat is over and maybe stay for a while.”

“A while?”

“Just until the weekend. You shouldn’t have to bounce back to taking care of Caleb the exact moment you’re out of bed.”

Stiles nodded stupidly. He didn’t really want to, but he was too brain dead to argue. His future self would have to deal with it, something current Stiles was very pleased with. It meant all he had to focus on right now was driving back home without going off the road.

Appeased by his answer, his dad patted Stiles’ shoulder and let him go. The moment Stiles had closed the door of his car and put on his seatbelt, he got his phone out and started typing a text to Derek.

The last thing he needed was to wait too long and end up texting him something weird once his heat had fully taken over his sanity.

**_won’t make it to playdates this week_ **

**_sorry should have told you earlier_ **

**_Did something happen?_ **

Stiles hesitated. He didn’t know how much to tell Derek without sounding weird. In the end, and because his dad was still on the front porch watching him, Stiles typed out  **_heat’s early. dw i’m good. caleb’s with my dad until wednesday_ ** .

All the ride home, Stiles listened carefully for Derek’s reply. His phone stayed suspiciously silent.

*

Three orgasms and two stale cookies later, Stiles decided it was time for a bath. He filled the tub with lukewarm water and stepped in quickly so his slick wouldn’t drip on the tiled floor. His skin was hot and clammy, the way it always was after playing lacrosse or fucking, and Stiles wanted nothing more than for someone to rub lotion all over him and then give him a massage. And a handjob.

He brought his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them, trying to calm his heart down. Every muscle ached, even the ones that didn’t use to hurt when he was younger. Stiles tried to distract himself from the growing hollowness he felt inside him, a widening gap that pulled and stretched and wanted. It never led to anything good.

As he scrubbed himself clean, he thought of what he would do once he got out of the tub. Maybe he’d have another cookie. After that, he’d go back to bed and try to get some sleep, and when he woke up from that nap he would have to make himself come again. 

Toys with knots made heats easier, but Stiles had never gotten around to buying one. His suppressants made everything subdued, a bit muted. He felt the need to be fucked as nothing more than an insistent itch he couldn’t quite scratch, but it didn’t hurt. It was nothing like the heats he’d gone through before having Caleb, when every time he so much as drew in a breath his hole would ache so fiercely he ended up crying. 

This was bearable. It was better than the alternative, which consisted of getting a heat partner. 

Stiles did not bother putting on a pair of boxers after drying himself off. Instead, he slipped on a big t-shirt that read  _ Fancy _ and tried to locate his charger. The shirt reached his mid-thighs, but the friction wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt good, the fabric soft after years of use, stretched out and familiar.

The doorbell rang when he was bending over to get the charger from under his bed.

A million thoughts went through his head at once.  _ It’s Thomas, no, of course it’s not Thomas, it’s my dad, no, why would my dad be here, oh, maybe Caleb, no, he would have called if something had happened to Caleb, then who’s at the door, who’s— _

Stiles cleared his throat. His voice still came out wrecked. “Who is it?”

There was a moment of silence, and then: “Isaac. I’m an Omega too, so you don’t have to worry about—” A pause. “Anything.”

Stiles moved closer to the door but didn’t open it. “What are you doing here?”

“Derek sent me.”

Obviously. “Is he there with you?”

The question seemed to shock Isaac, because he sounded confused when he spoke again. “Of course not. He’s an Alpha.”

It was getting harder and harder to stay coherent. Stiles’ body ached, and all he wanted was to be in bed, touching himself or sleeping or doing anything but standing in the middle of his living room talking to Derek’s packmate. 

“Why are you here, Isaac?”

“Derek wanted me to bring you some things. I’m going to put them down on the floor and leave, and then you can get them. If you want.”

Stiles started nodding, then realized Isaac couldn’t see him. “Yes. Thank you, I—say thanks to Derek.”

A few minutes passed. Stiles could hear shuffling through the door, like plastic bags and sneakers and maybe Isaac’s breathing. He had to keep a hand on the couch to steady himself.

“Okay,” Isaac said. “I’m leaving now. Good luck.”

Stiles waited. He knew, rationally, that if Isaac had lied about being an omega and wanted to hurt Stiles, all he had to do was stick around outside the door without making too much noise, and just pounce when Stiles went outside. But Derek was Isaac’s Alpha. And Stiles trusted Derek to not want to hurt him.

Or at least, not like that.

After what felt like an eternity, Stiles opened the door. Isaac was gone, and it seemed like he’d been telling the truth. On the floor, there were at least five plastic bags full of things, colorful and a bit heavy. Stiles half-carried them, half-dragged them into the apartment and closed the door, double-checking that the bolt was in place.

He slid to the floor and started to rummage through the bags one by one. They were full of Tupperware containers—chicken, pasta, fucking nachos, chocolate cake, mousse—and Gatorade bottles of all flavors. The last bag, a bit smaller than the rest, contained a bunch of chocolate bars in fancy golden wrapping, which looked handmade and crafty in a good way. 

There was a note stuck to one of them.

> **_These are for Caleb. Organic, gluten free, no added sugar. One of them has peanuts and I’m letting you know because some kids are very allergic (I know you said he didn’t have any allergies, but I don’t want to take any chances)._ **
> 
> **_Please rest._ **
> 
> **_Derek_ **

Stiles sat there, without pants on, looking at the chocolate bars in his hands for almost twenty minutes. He felt a lot like crying, and for the first time in years, it wasn’t out of anger or frustration. It wasn’t because he was sad or hurt or anxious.

He was tentatively happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! sorry it took me so long to post this chapter, it's a bit longer than the others. i added some chapters to this fic (hope that's okay, since i'm having fun with this i want to keep exploring some themes) and i will also add some more tags (mostly about verbal abuse because thomas is a jerk). we made it part 200 bookmarks! that's so amazing <3 thank you all so much for your support. I'll post again as soon as i can.
> 
> thank you for reading!


	7. Seven

**Seven**

By Wednesday night, Stiles felt a lot better. He'd been religiously eating the meals Derek had packed for him and also chugged down all four Gatorade bottles. The only symptom of his heat that remained was a throbbing headache, which wouldn't let up no matter how much Tylenol Stiles took.

All in all, it had been one of the best heats Stiles had ever had.

Even though he'd spent most of the last three days sleeping, Stiles had also tried to text and call as much as possible. His editor has grudgingly agreed to give him an extension on his deadline, and his dad had sent him as many pictures and videos of Caleb as Stiles requested. And Derek…

At first, because he didn't want his hormones to speak for him, Stiles had abstained from texting Derek, but after the first few meals had been devoured, Stiles found that he wanted to thank Derek more than he wanted his knot.

**_feeling better! i think it’s over_ **

**_ngl i’m going to miss having all my meals organized and ready to eat haha_ **

**_thank you so much_ **

**_I always make too much food._ **

**_It wouldn’t be a problem to send you some every week._ **

**_derek omg_ **

**_are you offering to meal prep for me?_ **

**_:/ not cool dude_ **

**_…_ **

**_I MEAN *DEREK* not dude_ **

**_who’s dude? i’ve never met him_ **

**_We could have lunch together when you bring Caleb over._ **

**_For dinners, yes, I’m offering to meal prep for you._ **

**_Is that a problem?_ **

**_that’s too much_ **

**_i don’t want to take advantage of you_ **

**_besides, i can’t really pay you back haha_ **

**_i’m a terrible cook_ **

**_Caleb has assured me you make great Mac and Cheese_ **

**_And chicken nuggets_ **

**_It wouldn’t be taking advantage of me if I’m the one offering_ **

**_yes to the lunch dates_ **

**_i’ll think about the dinner offer, okay?_ **

**_Of course._ **

**_Have you run out of snacks? I could send Isaac over again._ **

**_you’ve done more than enough, seriously_ **

**_i’m back to normal now lol_ **

**_thank you again_ **

**_Let me know if you need any help with Caleb._ **

**_Or anything, really._ **

**_Take care._ **

After taking a much-needed shower and scrubbing himself raw, Stiles got dressed in clean clothes and prepared a small bag to take with him in case he decided to stay over at his dad’s. Once that was done, he double-checked the door was closed and finally left.

His phone was silent as he drove, something for which Stiles was more than grateful. He knew Helen was going to call him today, but that wasn’t what had him on edge. Thomas was unpredictable and it wouldn’t surprise Stiles to know he’d already found a lawyer and started a whole legal mess over Derek hitting him.

He parked the car in his dad’s driveway and took a few steadying breaths before getting out. This had been Stiles’ home for years, the place Stiles had come back to after the hospital with Caleb in his arms and a group of friends acting as nannies. This was the last house his mother had ever lived in, and it was full of bright memories and warmth. It was going to be fine.

At least, Stiles was going to pretend that was the case.

No sooner had his dad opened the door than Caleb was running outside to meet him, crashing into Stiles’ legs at full speed. 

“Hello,” Stiles said, laughing, as he held Caleb close and let him nuzzle. “Did you miss me, baby?”

His dad was watching them, leaning against the doorway. “He did. Asked me a billion times exactly when you were coming over today.”

Before pulling away, Caleb started babbling. “Daddy, I saw an elle-phant with Grandpa. It was like this big, but not as big as like—like—a truck. I did you a drawing of it too!”

“Wow, thank you,” Stiles said softly. He buried his face in Caleb’s hair, breathing him in. He smelled off, mostly because he’d been using a different shampoo and sleeping away from Stiles, but underneath it all, he was still his pup. “I have something for you too, love. Come on, let’s go inside so I can have a proper look at you. Did you get taller?”

Caleb took his hand and dragged him into the house. He was barefoot, and his little feet made funny noises when he stepped on the wooden boards of the floor. 

Sitting on the couch with Caleb in his lap, Stiles finally turned his head to face his dad. He said, “Was it fine? Did he give you any trouble?”

His dad sat down on the other end of the couch. “Of course not. He even slept in your room by himself.”

“Thank you for behaving,” Stiles said, and gave Caleb a kiss on the forehead. Caleb, who was too busy playing with the neckline of Stiles’ shirt, didn’t seem to notice. “So, pops. How have you been?”

“Good. It’s been nice to have him around.”

Stiles nodded. He could feel the room growing awkward by the second. “Did they give you any trouble at the station for taking these days off? I totally forgot to thank Parrish for covering you last month.”

“No,” his dad said. “It was fine. I even drove Caleb there yesterday so he could see my office.”

“Is that right, baby? You were the Sheriff for a day?”

Caleb nodded against Stiles’ throat. “Wore the hat. And the batch, daddy.”

Stiles assumed he meant badge. To his dad, he said as casually as possible, “How did his session go? I texted Dr. Jenkins to see if we could reschedule but it was already too late.”

“It was fine.”

“Just fine?”

“They played for a while. Legos, I think. Then Caleb told him all about—” His dad cut himself off. After the briefest pause, he added, “Your new friend. It seems he’s very attached to Derek already.”

And there it was, the rapprochement Stiles had grown used to hearing in his father’s voice. It didn’t sting as much anymore, mainly because Stiles knew to expect it. Very rarely did it hit him by surprise, but when it did… 

“Did he mention T-H-O-M-A-S?” Stiles said, ignoring everything else his dad had just said. Or rather, all the things he had not said but implied.

“Not even once.”

“Okay, thank—”

“Daddy, can I have my present now?”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. “How do you know it’s a present, huh? And I don’t know. That wasn’t very nice, was it, love? I was trying to thank Grandpa for taking care of you.”

Caleb frowned. He’d never quite liked being told off, but Stiles imagined that was the case for most kids. “Sorry, daddy.”

“It’s okay. Now, let’s see... Should I give you your surprise?”

“Yes,” Caleb said. His little hands on each side of Stiles’ neck were making Stiles want to giggle. “Please, please, can I please have it?”

“Can you please hand me my bag, dad? I think I left it by the door.”

His dad complied. He didn’t say anything as he handed it over, but Stiles saw there was curiosity in his face. Stiles wasn’t big on presents, partly because he could never afford them, and partly because he was too forgetful. Details evaded him.

“This is a gift from Derek,” Stiles said, purposefully avoiding his dad’s stare. “So you have to really thank him when we see him again, all right? Even if you don’t like what he got you.”

Caleb nodded, and his smile took up most of his face. God, Stiles thought, it was so easy to make him happy.

Stiles took the chocolate bars out of the bag and handed them to Caleb, who looked amazed by their sparkly wrapping.

“I’ll open one of these so you can try it, okay? Which one do you like best?”

Caleb picked the smallest one. The label read ‘Coconut milk & wild berries’. “This one, please.”

Stiles broke a piece off and handed it to Caleb, who sniffed it for a whole minute. Once he’d satisfied whatever sensory issue he’d had with the chocolate, Caleb took a bite.

“Is it good?” Stiles said, watching Caleb chew slowly. He really didn’t feel like cleaning up puke right now.

To his surprise, Caleb nodded. He munched happily and then opened his hand for more.

Fucking werewolves, Stiles thought. “Sorry, love. No more right now. We have to eat lunch!”

“Sandy?”

Stiles finally looked at his dad. He wished he hadn’t, for the flash of disappointment Stiles saw in his expression was enough to make his whole body ache. “Grandpa needs to eat a salad, and so do you.”

“Hey Caleb,” his dad said, “why don’t you go find that drawing you made for your daddy? We both want to see it.”

Caleb climbed off of Stiles’ lap, licking his fingers and nodding. Before leaving towards the kitchen, he said, “You already saw it, Grandpa!”

“Don’t,” Stiles said the second Caleb had left the room. He’d seen his dad’s mouth opening, and he’d taken the opportunity to speak up first. “I don’t want to argue about this, dad. Can you just let it go, for once?”

“I let it go,” his dad said slowly, “four years ago. I’m not making the same mistake twice, Stiles.”

“That was different. Thomas—”

“—was exactly like Derek is being now. When he came over for dinner that one time, he brought a bottle of Chardonnay as a present.”

Stiles looked away. Suddenly, the spot in the carpet where Scott had once spilled half his energy drink seemed more interesting than his dad’s face. “It’s not the same.”

“You lied to me, kiddo.”

“What? When did I—”

“You said you weren’t going to Derek’s and that Derek wasn’t coming over.”

Stiles sputtered, his indignation choking him. “I didn’t see him!”

“Then how did he drop off his gift?”

There was a part of Stiles that wanted to smile and laugh and taunt his dad, because finally Stiles had not been in the wrong. He hadn’t lied, and he hadn’t put himself in danger in any way. He could open his mouth and tell his dad about Isaac, about how he was an Omega and part of Derek’s pack and skinny as a toothpick. He could tell his dad how Derek hadn’t barged into the apartment to try and ravish him, and then maybe his dad would see how wrong he was about Derek. About Stiles.

But there was another part of Stiles, although smaller, that understood where his dad was coming from. It had been good with Thomas during those first few months, and by the time it had all gone to shit Stiles had still been holding onto hope that things would magically fix themselves, that one day he’d wake up and the Thomas he’d been in love with would return. 

It was true that Stiles had been naive. It was also true that his dad had trusted him back then, and Stiles had let him down.

“It’s not like that,” Stiles said, resigned. There wasn’t enough time in the world to begin arguing about this. “Derek didn’t stop by.”

Caleb ran back into the room then, a colorful sheet of paper in his hand. He shoved it in Stiles’ face as he climbed the couch. “This is me,” he said, pointing at the little stick figure on the right. “And this is you. Grandpa and Uncle Scott. And this is a frog.”

Stiles let out a hum. “This is so pretty. And who’s this beautiful lady?”

“Grandma Helen,” Caleb said. “I wanted to draw a… what’s the thing called, daddy?”

“I don’t know what thing you’re talking about, baby. Is it an animal?”

Caleb pouted. “The thing Derek said it’s—the mean flower.”

“Wolfsbane,” Stiles said. The flowers on the paper, bright pink and blue, did not look at all like wolfsbane, but Stiles thought it’d be mean to point that out. “We should hang this on the fridge when we get home.”

“No, daddy. This is for Grandpa’s fridge.”

“Ah, I see. Well, maybe you could draw another picture for me today? Do you think you have enough inspiration left, small Picasso?”

Frowning, Caleb said, “Who’s Casso?”

“He was a very famous painter.” Stiles stood up, Caleb on his hip. “We’re going to make Grandpa some healthy lunch, aren’t we? Dad, do you want a veggie burger with that? Maybe some boiled eggs.”

“Whatever you make is fine by me, kid.”

“Daddy’s not a kid,” Caleb said. “He’s very old, Grandpa.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice, baby.”

“If your dad’s old, I wonder what I am.”

“Ancient,” Stiles said instantly.

It made his dad laugh.

*

“Hello, Helen,” Stiles said the second after closing the bathroom door. They’d been having lunch when his phone rang, and Stiles had not wanted to postpone this call. Not for anything. “How are you?”

“Stiles, I’m so sorry for what happened over the weekend. I tried to talk Thomas out of driving Caleb back to your place, but he wouldn’t listen. I’m so embarrassed that you had to put up with—”

“It’s okay. I know you’re trying, and I know it’s hard. I don’t blame you at all.”

“Still, I’m very sorry. Caleb was so upset, I had never seen anything like that.” There was a pause, during which Stiles heard Helen moving around on the other end of the line. Then, low as a whisper, “Is Caleb still going to therapy, honey?”

“He is,” Stiles said, tense. He didn’t like where this was headed. “Why?”

“Please don’t ever think I’m overstepping, that’s the last thing I would ever want. But I noticed that Caleb seems very… attached. Not only to you but to your—” Another pause, abrupt. “To other people in your life. Have you considered maybe getting a second opinion? I know a doctor near Beacon Hills who’d be more than willing to—”

“Caleb’s made great progress with Dr. Jenkins. What happened this weekend has never happened before, and it wouldn’t have happened if Thomas hadn’t forced him to take a bath.”

Helen hurried to agree. “Of course! Yes, of course I know that. And you’re right, my son is just… Listen, you do what you think is best, okay? I only thought I’d bring it up.”

Relaxing slightly, Stiles let out a breath. The corner of the sink was digging into his hip bone, but he didn’t move away. “I’m sorry you couldn’t spend the weekend with him. I know it was important to you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Helen said. The laugh that followed was a little sad. Tentatively, as if scared Stiles would snap at the mere suggestion, she added, “I guess I’ll see Caleb again for Christmas? I totally understand if you don’t want to let him—”

“No, I—Helen, you don’t have to wait until Christmas to see him. Would you like to come over next weekend? I’d offer to drive him there, but things with Thomas aren’t going well and I’d rather we didn’t run into each other again so soon.”

“Yes! I would love that. I could drive there early next week’s Friday and stay at a hotel until Monday morning? Does that work for you? Please, if it doesn’t, you don’t have to go out of your way to—”

“Of course it works,” Stiles said softly. He liked Helen. He liked that Helen loved Caleb, always had. “And please don’t bring him any presents, okay? We all spoil him way too much.”

The line was silent for a moment. Sounding guilty, Helen said, “I’m afraid I already bought him some things. They were supposed to be his birthday present, but Thomas took him before I could even bring them down from the attic.”

“That’s okay, just… You don’t have to worry. We’re doing fine.”

“Stiles,” Helen said, and her voice was very soft. It reminded Stiles of his own mom, the way she’d always known when he was lying or making things up. “Honey, it’s okay if you’re not. There’s no shame in asking for help, you know? We can talk a bit more when I’m in town, but I have a proposition for you.”

There was a knock on the door. “Daddy,” Caleb said, a whine. “I need to pee.”

“We’ll talk more once you’re here,” Stiles said into the phone. “I have to go, duty calls.”

“Say hi to Caleb for me, will you? I’ll text you later to see if I’ve managed to book the hotel room.”

After the call was over, Stiles splashed his face with cold water and only after taking a few deep breaths did he open the door. Caleb took his time in the bathroom, narrating the whole thing to Stiles, and then washed his hands for a good minute. 

“Do you want to watch some cartoons?” Stiles said as he led Caleb to the living room. His dad was still in the kitchen, doing the dishes. “Or a movie.”

Caleb picked up the remote from the coffee table and handed it to Stiles, yawning. “Movie, please.”

“I think you need a nap.”

“Movie first, daddy.”

Stiles put on a random movie for kids he found on Netlfix. It was about a cow and a farmer, and the colors and animation seemed pretty enough. Then, he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the couch, letting Caleb step all over him until he found a comfortable position that allowed him to see the screen.

Caleb’s head rose and fell with every breath Stiles took. He was laying half on top of Stiles, between the back of the couch and his father’s body. It was warm enough that they didn’t need a blanket, but Stiles still spent some minutes rubbing Caleb’s back in case he was getting cold.

“I missed you,” Stiles said quietly. His words were muffled against Caleb’s hair. 

Eyes glued to the screen, Caleb said, “Me too, daddy.”

The movie went on. Stiles closed his eyes after a while, still exhausted from his heat and the stress of the last few days, and when he opened them again the TV was off, the living room in complete silence except for Caleb’s little snores. He’d shifted a bit so he could press his nose to Stiles’ throat, and his hands were tiny fists in Stiles’ shirt.

Doing his best not to wake him up, Stiles stretched as carefully as possible and stole the throw blanket from the rocking chair his dad refused to admit didn’t fit the rest of the room’s decoration.

He spread the blanket open and smoothed it over his and Caleb’s bodies. It was easy to fall back asleep after that, warm and with his son on his chest. The last thing Stiles thought about was how funny life was. Four years ago on that very same couch, Stiles had lain awake with a hand on his belly, certain he was going to die of heartache. 

Caleb mouthed something in his sleep, but Stiles was too far gone to make out the words. It was the best nap he’d taken all week.

*

Despite his father’s words, Stiles decided Caleb had spent enough time away from Derek. They were supposed to see each other every day, and Stiles could see the effect their forced time apart was having on Caleb. He woke up during the night and couldn’t go back to sleep unless Stiles gave him a glass of warm milk, he was fidgety during the day, and even cranky. He’d never been cranky with Stiles around, ever.

When Friday came around, Stiles drove them both to see Derek up the preserve, promising his dad he wouldn’t do anything foolish, especially with Caleb around.

Derek was waiting for them on the side of the road, looking just as beautiful as the first time Stiles had ever seen him. It seemed he’d used his free time wisely, because his beard had never been better trimmed. The way he smiled when he picked Caleb up made Stiles’ stomach tingle.

“What have you been up to, pup? It’s been a while.”

Caleb didn’t need more prompting to start talking. “Derek, daddy said I have to say thank you because you bought the choccy things and—even if I didn’t like them. Because it’s rude. But I liked them. And daddy said to ask you how you can make milk from a fruit? Daddy said he doesn’t know. And—”

“Woah, baby,” Stiles said, approaching them. “Give Derek a second to answer.”

Caleb didn’t reply, just stared at Derek, clearly waiting for him to start explaining.

“Milk from a fruit?” Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles. “What kind of fruit?”

“Coconuts. His favorite chocolate bar is the one made of coconut milk and wild berries, but I don’t know how it’s made. So.” Stiles shrugged. “It’s okay if you don’t know either. We can just google it.”

“Have you ever had coconut milk?”

Caleb shook his head. “Nope. Not ever. And daddy hasn’t too. I think? Daddy, have you—”

“I haven’t,” Stiles agreed. “Baby, you still have to say thank you for the presents, remember? A proper thank you.”

Derek was about to open his mouth to protest when Caleb cut him off by leaning in and kissing his cheek. He made a loud noise, the kind Stiles made when he was kissing Caleb and tickling his feet. Both Derek and Stiles went very still.

“Thank you, Derek,” Caleb said solemnly. He touched his mouth, not quite wiping it but rather tracing his own lips. “Daddy, Derek’s face is scratchy.”

Stiles’ face was in flames. “I’m so sorry, Derek. I didn’t know he was going to do that. Caleb, you can’t just kiss people like that, okay? You have to always ask first.”

“It’s fine,” Derek said. He placed a kiss on Caleb’s head, right into the little whirlpools of brown hair. “Now we’re even. Did my beard scratch you?”

Caleb nodded. “Yes.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should shave it off?”

“No,” Stiles said hurriedly. “No, you shouldn’t. It looks—” God, what was he even saying? “It looks great but you shouldn’t shave not because it looks great. You shouldn’t shave it because it’s, like, your face. Don’t listen to my kid. He’s got weird tastes. Your beard is fine. Well, more than fine, it’s—”

Derek laughed. It was the first time Stiles had heard him laugh for real, not the sweet chuckle he usually reserved for Caleb, but real, vigorous laughter. Stiles stared at him, dumbfounded, and thought to himself that it was one of the best sounds he’d ever heard in his life.

“Your daddy is a bit…” Derek made a face, tongue lolling out of his mouth like a dog. “Isn’t he?”

Caleb didn’t like that. He started squirming in Derek’s arms, wanting to be put down. When that didn’t immediately work, he made grabby hands at Stiles.

Stiles took him from Derek. “Hey, what’s wrong? It was just a joke, silly.”

“No,” Caleb said.

Derek was looking at them, still startled. Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to see he was worried.

“He didn’t mean it, love,” Stiles told Caleb. “You don’t have to be offended on my behalf.”

Derek’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“See? He apologized and it’s all forgiven. We’re all friends again.”

Caleb wrapped his arms around Stiles’ neck and refused to look at Derek. It was obvious he wanted to, but he was holding himself back. 

“He’ll be fine,” Stiles said to Derek. “Maybe he’s just hungry.”

Derek didn’t move for a moment. It was as though he was waiting for Caleb to turn around in Stiles’ arms and say out loud that he did, in fact, forgive him. But that did not happen. Caleb only burrowed closer to Stiles, nuzzling along the edge of his dad’s jaw.

In the end, Derek started walking towards his house and Stiles followed him. They were both silent, Stiles sometimes whispering things to Caleb that he hoped sounded reassuring.

Isaac was reading a book in Derek’s main kitchen. When he heard them walk in, he immediately put the book down and turned to face them. Derek, with an ease that made Stiles beyond horny, placed his hand on the back of Isaac’s neck. 

“Do you need help with that?” Derek said, eyeing the book. It was Great Expectations. 

“No,” Isaac said. A blush covered his cheeks. “Thank you.”

Derek walked over to the fridge and started pulling things out. Stiles watched in silence, making Caleb bounce a little, and concluded that maybe Isaac was an actual teenager. Wasn’t Dickens something kids read in high school these days? God, was Isaac Derek’s kid? Wait, that didn’t add up. At all.

“—thinking salad,” Derek was saying, head still stuck in the fridge. “Do you want breadsticks, Isaac?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“It’s no trouble. I know you like them.”

Isaac shifted awkwardly in his chair. “I—yes, okay.”

“What about you, Stiles? Is chicken breast with salad okay?” Derek drummed his fingers on the marble counter. “You’ll have breadsticks too.”

“That’s quite the assumption.”

“I could make chicken nuggets for Caleb,” Derek said slowly. “If he wants some, of course.”

Stiles knew what Derek thought of chicken nuggets. He was only offering to be gracious because he knew Caleb loved them. “Love, do you want Derek to make you some? Come on, use your words like the big boy you are.”

Caleb shook his head. Then, speaking into Stiles’ collarbone, he said, “I only like yours, daddy.”

“You haven’t tried Derek’s though,” Isaac said. He was trying to keep his voice light, obviously sensing that Caleb was upset about something. “He makes pretty good chicken nuggets. Not as good as your dad’s, of course.”

That got Caleb’s attention. He lifted his head a bit. “You tried them?”

“Your dad’s? Yes. They’re the best, aren’t they?” Isaac lowered his voice to a whisper, which was stupid considering everyone in the room could hear him. “But you should try Derek’s today. I think he’s going to be very hurt if you don’t even give him a chance.”

“But are they nice?” Caleb whispered back.

“I think so. If they’re yucky you can always drown them in ketchup.”

“Okay,” Caleb said. He twisted the tiniest bit in Stiles’ arm so he could face Derek. His grip on Stiles’ shirt tightened as though he was nervous. “Can I have some chicken nuggets, please?”

“Of course.”

Stiles kissed his forehead. “Say thank you, baby.”

“Thank you.”

Isaac stood from his chair, the book he’d been reading already tucked under his arm. “Hey, Caleb, do you want to watch a movie with me until lunch is ready?”

“With daddy too?”

“Someone has to help Derek make your chicken nuggets!” Isaac started whispering again. “He’ll burn them otherwise, and they’ll taste bad.”

“Very funny,” Derek said. He didn’t sound like he thought it was funny. At all.

Caleb thought about it for a second. “Okay. Daddy, help Derek lots please.”

Stiles was one more comment away from peeing his pants. “I will, love. Go with Isaac and enjoy your movie. I’ll be right here in the kitchen if you need me.”

Once on the floor, Caleb latched onto Isaac’s hand and let himself be herded away into the living room. Their voices faded with every step they took, and soon enough the kitchen had fallen completely silent. 

The kitchen island separated Derek and Stiles. That, and the trillion ingredients Derek had piled on it.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I didn’t mean to imply you were stupid. You know I would never say that to Caleb.”

Stiles made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Don’t sweat it, Derek. It wasn’t your fault.”

“He’s very protective of you.”

“Yes, he—” Stiles swallowed. To keep himself distracted, he played with the salt shaker in front of him. “I guess we have Thomas to thank for that.”

Derek didn’t reply to that. When it came to Thomas, Derek usually didn’t say what he was thinking. Or at least, that’s what Stiles thought he was doing. Not once had Derek tried to pry out of him information about his ex, or why they’d broken up, or why Thomas hated Stiles so much. Maybe, if Derek had asked, Stiles would have told him. It was only fair.

“Let me help you,” Stiles said on a whim. “Not that I think you can’t make chicken nuggets on your own, but I… I would feel better. Doing something. I’m starting to feel like a trophy omega.”

Derek’s face softened at that. “Of course you can help. Can you slice up the vegetables while I work on the chicken?”

Once their roles in the kitchen had been established, they both got to work. Stiles moved to the perfectly polished counter with a wooden board and a kid’s knife—Derek insisted—and started slicing cherry tomatoes, baby spinach, and even red cabbage. Derek seasoned the meat next to him, his elbow brushing against Stiles’ from time to time, their eyes meeting whenever they looked up from the task at hand.

After Stiles’ third failed attempt at cutting up some weird, crunchy vegetable, Derek washed his hands and came to stand right behind him, his body sort of bracketing Stiles’ against the counter.

“Here,” Derek said gently, or as gently as Derek could say things. He put his hand over Stiles’, showing him the proper way to hold the knife. When he spoke again, his words left a ghost of warm breath against Stiles’ nape. “You just have to flick your wrist like this. Hide your fingers so you don’t—exactly. You’re doing great.”

Stiles didn’t think he’d ever felt warmer than he did now, Derek’s arms loosely wrapped around him, Derek’s chin barely an inch away from his shoulder. And the praise… It was stupid to get emotional over it, but Stiles was known to have some crying episodes after his heats. Sometimes. Not all the time. Stiles was very much not the stereotype of the hormonal omega.

Except he sort of was.

“Derek,” Stiles said, and his voice broke a little. “I—”

But Derek moved away as suddenly as he’d drawn closer. Without a word, he stood next to Stiles and went back to cutting up a chicken breast.

Not a second later, Caleb came padding into the room. He tugged on the hem of Stiles’ shirt to get his attention. “Daddy, can I go out with Isaac? To the shard. I want to see the flowers.”

He probably meant the yard. “Did he tell you to ask me?”

Caleb nodded.

“That’s very smart. Yes, baby, you can go. Just listen to what he says, okay? And don’t wander off on your own, no matter what you smell or hear. Promise?”

“Yes.”

Stiles turned a bit to go back to cooking—because yes, cutting things up was cooking, thank you very much—but Caleb didn’t leave the kitchen immediately like Stiles had expected him to. Instead, Caleb took a little step towards Derek, and then another.

Derek, who’d been trying to pretend he wasn’t obviously on high alert, crouched down a little. “Do you need something, pup?”

Caleb took in a deep breath, then jabbed his pudgy finger into Derek’s thigh. He was the perfect Stiles impersonator. “Don’t be mean to daddy, Derek.”

“I won’t. Ever.”

Satisfied with that answer, Caleb padded out of the room, calling for Isaac. It was strange how at home he seemed here, despite it all. He probably liked it here, Stiles realized. This house was five times bigger than Scott’s, and it had a yard, and every time they’d come over Derek had fed them. It made sense Caleb liked it.

It probably already smelled like pack to him.

“So,” Stiles said slowly. He felt very light for some inexplicable reason. “I kind of want chicken nuggets too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i know, i know. you're probably thinking 'where's the sterek?!' and let me tell you... it's coming. i'm just bad at making characters kiss very early on haha. i would love to include more of derek's pack and his family in this fic, and i'm very excited to introduce some of my fave characters of the show after this!!!! (it's coming, it's coming, i'm just... a slow writer haha). 
> 
> and guys!!!! +1000 kudos?! thank you so much y_y i love you and thank you for reading!!!!


	8. Eight

**Eight**

The week went by in a blur. Stiles, who was used to being dead tired by the time Thursdays rolled around, felt surprised that he woke up well-rested and with enough energy to do everything he was supposed to that day. A hesitant routine had developed: wake up early, make breakfast for Caleb, work away while Caleb watched TV or played, then go to Derek’s. 

At Derek’s house, Stiles would sit down and watch from a distance as Caleb played with Derek. They played all sorts of things—tag, hide and seek, even board games—but they also had quiet moments. After lunch, Derek would be especially quiet, as though he knew exactly when Caleb wanted to take a nap. The two of them would lie down on the couch, a random movie playing on the TV, and Derek would talk to Caleb about Werewolf Stuff.

Stiles made the best of those moments. He would pull out his laptop and work furiously, something he never managed to do at home. Even though Caleb liked to nap when it was just the two of them, he only ever stayed asleep for short intervals of time, sometimes waking up even fussier than before. Now with Derek, Caleb’s naps were perfectly timed: a solid hour and a half.

Isaac joined him at the kitchen table, doing coursework. He finished Great Expectations in just one evening and then moved on to other classics Stiles had never been interested in reading. They typed side by side in a comfortable silence that never failed to make Stiles sleepy.

Today was one of those days. Isaac was reading one of his books, pausing every now and then to scribble something down on his notebook, and Stiles was busy working on his research for an article. They’d been at it for well over an hour.

Derek walked into the kitchen, a sleeping Caleb drooling all over his shoulder. He was wearing black socks, very serious looking, and Stiles randomly thought of what a nice present some pairs of colorful, fun socks would make. 

“Does he like his milk warm?” Derek said in a low voice. The way he was holding Caleb did something to Stiles’ stomach. “I bought him a carton of coconut milk to try out. It’s very sweet, but the girl at the store told me it tastes better warm.”

Stiles didn’t bother telling Derek he shouldn’t have done that. It was simply pointless. “Warm milk is okay. Do you want me to hold him while you—”

Derek offered him a hand gesture, which was far too vague for Stiles to understand. Then, with Caleb still in his arms, he walked deeper into the kitchen and towards the fridge, very slowly pulling out the milk and a plastic cup from the closest cabinet. He even hummed a little when Caleb stirred, a low sound that made Stiles’ son go limp again.

Very tentatively, Isaac said, “Derek?”

“Yes?”

“Could I—” Isaac cut himself off. His knuckles had gone white around his book. “Would it be okay if I had some?”

Stiles watched Derek’s face soften slightly. “Of course. Do you want it warm as well?”

“Yeah.”

Derek nodded and went back to work. It’d been a short exchange, nothing out of the ordinary, but Stiles felt as though he’d witnessed something big. Something important. He made a mental note to ask Derek exactly how old Isaac was.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Hey, so. I was thinking—well, it wasn’t actually my idea. It was Scott’s. He, er. He has ideas all the time, you know. He’s an idea-prone person, and—”

“Stiles,” Isaac said, amused. “Just spit it out.”

“Scott would like to invite you all to his house for lunch on Sunday. The whole pack, I mean. I don’t know much about werewolf etiquette so I don’t know if it’s okay that I’m the one asking you?”

Derek walked over to the table, two cups carefully balanced in one hand. Caleb was still snoring softly against Derek’s shirt. “It’s fine, but I don’t know if all of us will be free to attend.”

“That’s completely understandable. I—”

“I’ll go,” Isaac said, and it came out almost defiant.

Derek slowly lowered himself onto a chair. The movement was enough to jostle Caleb awake. “You have an exam on Monday.”

“This is Sunday. I’ll be fine.”

Caleb blinked a few times, then proceeded to rub his sleepy face all over the front of Derek’s shirt. 

“No one will be upset if you can’t make it,” Stiles said. “Scott just wants to get to know you better, since… Just to be safe.”

Derek helped Caleb sit up a little, enough so that he could reach the table easily and wasn’t sliding down between Derek’s thighs. “Boyd and Erica will be there. And Isaac… Are you sure you don’t need that extra study time?”

Isaac nodded. “I’m sure.”

“All right. Here’s your milk. And,” Derek said, bringing the plastic cup with a lid to Caleb’s face, “this is yours, pup.”

Caleb held the cup with both hands. Two seconds later he was taking short sips from it.

“Is it good, baby?” Stiles said. “What do we say?”

Caleb stopped drinking long enough to draw in a deep breath. “Thank you, Derek.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Daddy, try it.”

Stiles accepted the cup and took a sip. It tasted sickeningly sweet, but Caleb didn’t seem to mind. “That’s very yummy.”

“Who’s going to be at Scott’s?” Derek said after a moment. 

“Er, Scott and Kira, obviously. Caleb, me, and—oh! Caleb’s Grandma is coming over this weekend, I almost forgot. But I don’t think she’ll be there.” At the confused stares he received, Stiles added, “She’ll probably hang out with my dad and Scott’s mom. A baby boomer meeting.”

Caleb continued to drink his milk, sleepily leaning against Derek’s chest. Derek had a hand splayed over Caleb’s stomach to keep him in place. They looked so—

Stiles stood up. The chair made a loud noise when he pushed it back, earning him a frown from Derek and the smallest of flinches from Isaac. “Sorry,” he said, heading towards the living room where he’d left his bag just as the alarm on his phone went off. “Have to—take something.”

 _I’m not going to have a baby with every dude I hook up with_ , Stiles told himself furiously. He popped a suppressant pill and swallowed it dry. Then, he stood in the empty living room, trying to convince himself that experiencing baby fever so soon after his heat was normal.

Besides, he and Derek weren’t even close to hooking up. For all Stiles knew, Derek didn’t even want kids in general.

So what if for a second, just a second, Stiles had thought of how right Derek would look like, holding a baby, feeding them milk the way he’d done with Caleb? That was normal. Everything was fine.

Just… hormones.

*

“You should go say hi,” Stiles said as he helped Caleb out of his jacket. The day was beautiful, and the park wasn’t too full. “I’m sure they’d love to be your friends, baby.”

Caleb watched the group of kids—more like toddlers—in the sandbox. They were playing quietly, building little mountains that the wind or an accidental kick brought down. He huddled closer to Stiles.

“Don’t want to, daddy.”

Stiles sat down with him on the grass. It was slightly wet but way too comfortable for Stiles to mind. He said, “I was very nervous about making friends when I was little. Did you know that? But then I met your Uncle Scott, and the more I talked to other kids the more they liked me.”

It wasn’t exactly true. Not a lot of people had wanted to be Stiles’ friend growing up, but he wasn’t going to tell Caleb that. Caleb was nothing like Stiles had been as a kid, which was good. He’d have an easier time making friends and keeping them.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “You don’t have to talk to them today, but I would really like it if you tried next time. Remember how nice it was to meet Derek? Well, those kids could be your new friends if you gave them a chance.”

Caleb stopped trying to climb into Stiles’ lap. He looked suspicious. “But they don’t smell like Derek.”

“I know, love. But… Friendship is not about scents. It’s about—when you like someone, it doesn’t matter what they smell like.”

“But what if they’re very stinky?”

Stiles laughed as he nosed Caleb’s cheek. “That won’t happen. You like Uncle Jackson even though he’s very, very, very stinky, don’t you?”

“Uncle Jackie isn’t stinky,” Caleb said with a small frown.

Stiles was about to reply when he saw Helen getting out of her car. She was wearing the sweater Stiles had sent her for her birthday last year, and her black bag looked like it was full. Presents, Stiles thought with dread. Helen had a thing for Caleb’s birthdays.

“Look who came to see you, love.”

Caleb twisted around in Stiles’ arms, his little sneakers sinking into Stiles’ thighs when he stood up. But then, just when Stiles was about to herd him forward, Caleb wrapped both arms around Stiles’ neck with enough strength to knock the breath out of him.

Stiles coughed, trying to get Caleb’s grip to loosen up. “What’s—Caleb, you’re hurting me.”

“Don’t want to go,” Caleb said, mouth half-pressed to Stiles’ shirt. His voice was wet.

Helen was getting nearer, and from the look on her face, she already knew something was wrong.

Stiles held Caleb back, thumb rubbing over his nape in little circles. It was supposed to help pups settle, but maybe it was just bullshit. Stiles should have asked Derek about that.

“She’s not going to take you with her, baby. It’s okay. She’s here to visit you and me and Grandpa. And look, I think she got you a present.”

Caleb didn’t let go. “Dad?”

Oh. So that was what was worrying him. It wasn’t Helen, but rather the idea that Thomas would tag along as well. Now that Stiles thought about it, all the times Caleb and Helen had spent time together, Thomas had been there.

“Your dad isn’t here, I promise,” Stiles said softly. “Come on, give Grandma a hug. She drove all the way here to see you and she deserves a good welcome.”

Helen stopped a few steps away from them. She took off her sunglasses as Caleb untangled himself from Stiles, and then crouched down a little. Caleb smiled when they embraced, and she picked him up effortlessly, already babbling to him about his gifts.

“—race car,” Helen was saying. “I’m also thinking of getting a puppy. Would you like that? You could even choose its name.”

Caleb, who loved dogs, was on cloud nine. He turned to Stiles with wide eyes and a perfect ‘o’ for a mouth. “Daddy, daddy, can I please have a puppy?”

“It wouldn’t be your puppy,” Stiles said slowly. He felt the familiar prickle of shame go through him—he barely had enough money to feed the two of them, let alone a dog. “Baby, we talked about it, remember? We can’t have pets in the apartment.”

Helen nodded. “Of course! I said it’d be my puppy, silly. Are you already trying to steal it from me?”

“Oh,” Caleb said, a little too quietly.

“But I’ll come visit you all the time,” Helen said, which made Stiles frown at her. It seemed a bit cruel to lie to Caleb like that, especially after getting him all excited. “You can still choose its name, how does that sound?”

“Chasey,” Caleb said. Because of course he would. “Daddy, can I name—“

“Yes, love. If Grandma says it’s okay, then you can choose the puppy’s name.”

After a few minutes of Helen asking Caleb all kinds of questions— _what did you have for breakfast, are you coloring a lot, do you remember the turtles we saw_ —she finally set him down on the grass again, and sat down next to him, closer to Stiles.

She pulled out a wrapped box from her bag and, shooting Stiles an apologetic look, handed it over to Caleb.

They were action figures for kids. Batman, Robin, Aquaman, and Superman. Caleb took them out of the box and lined them up on the grass, vibrating with happiness. Without having to be told, he crawled over to Helen and gave her another hug, saying ‘thank you’ a billion times per minute.

Then he went back to his new toys, making them babble and fight each other with an enthusiasm Stiles envied. He wasn’t playing with kids his age, but at least he wasn’t miserable and moping. Baby steps.

Helen took a cotton blanket out of her bag and gracefully spread it on the grass. Even in dark jeans and a sweater she was one of the most elegant people Stiles had ever met. It also helped that she was kind, and always smiling. She looked—and was—warm.

“Hey, honey,” she said to Stiles. Her voice was soft and very low, as though she was scared of startling him. “How have you been?”

Stiles forced out a smile. “I’m fine. And you? How was the ride here?”

“It was boringly mundane. Two hours that felt like fifteen, to be quite honest.”

They fell silent after that, watching Caleb play and make noises to himself. Awkward as it was, Stiles still preferred the silence to their impending conversation. He’d never felt less like talking about Thomas, and that was really saying something.

Eventually, Helen shifted so she could look Stiles in the face.

“You’ve told me I don’t need to apologize, but I really feel like I have to. Stiles, I’ve tried to talk to Thomas about dropping his wild ideas of going to court, but he simply won’t listen to me. And after what happened last weekend I—“ She let out a shuddery breath. “I just want you to know that if I’m asked to testify, I would never do so against you. I know you’re trying your hardest, honey, I can see it. And Thomas isn’t—“

“I just don’t understand why he’s doing this,” Stiles said. He hadn’t meant to speak up, but the anxiety building in his stomach became too much. “He doesn’t have to be involved if he doesn’t want to. All I ask is that he pays child support. Helen, you know I wouldn’t ask unless I needed the money.”

Helen’s eyes were sharp, the same shade of green as Caleb’s. “It doesn’t matter if you need the money or not. Thomas is Caleb’s father, okay? Even if he doesn’t want to be involved in his son’s life, he has to pay for child support. He has to help out.”

“And he used to.” Sure, he would forget sometimes, but he’d never blatantly refused to pay. Not until a few months ago. “I don’t get why he’s being like this.”

“Ever since my husband died… Thomas hasn’t been doing well. I’m not under any circumstances excusing his—“

“I know.”

Helen cleared her throat. “My son wasn’t ready to become our pack’s Alpha, Stiles. He just wasn’t. I think being away from his son and his last mate is doing things to his instincts.”

Stiles wanted to laugh. Instead, he said, “I’m not Thomas’ last mate.”

“Daddy,” Caleb said, holding Superman by his feet, upside down. “If the real Superman and the real Aquaman had a fight, who—“

“Superman, baby.”

Caleb nodded solemnly, needing no further explanation, and went back to playing.

“I’m sure there have been other people in his life,” Helen said, and her face was red, especially the tip of her nose. “But he hasn’t formed another heat bond since he was with you.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Stiles held both hands up, stopping her. He could be so stupid sometimes. Fucking werewolves, again. “Don’t—you can smell it. I just never thought of it.”

“Yes, well.”

Again, an awkward silence started to take over. Stiles wasn’t used to it, to being uncomfortable around Helen. She’d held his hand during Caleb’s birth. She’d taught him how to nurse. Things weren’t supposed to be stiff and stilted and weird between them.

Stiles said, “I’m sorry, but he really needs to get his shit together.”

Helen laughed. Whatever animosity was in the air dissolved as though it had never existed in the first place. Caleb, who was too busy playing to pay them any attention, did not even notice Stiles had cursed.

“He does,” Helen said. “I… There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Yes?”

There was some hand wringing on Helen’s part. Her manicure, Stiles saw, was impeccable. “I’ve been thinking about moving for a while. The house I live in is—there are too many memories there. And I’ve decided I want to be closer to Caleb. To you.”

Stiles’ heart sped up. “You mean you want to move to Beacon Hills?”

“Yes.”

“Would Thomas—“

“No,” Helen said firmly. “He wouldn’t live with me or even visit much, if not at all. I’m just tired of seeing my only grandson twice a year, and I…” A pause, stretched out enough that Stiles started to think maybe she wouldn’t continue. “Please don’t take offense in this, but I think I could really help you out if I’m in Beacon Hills.”

That made Stiles frown. “Help me out? How?”

“I could babysit Caleb,” Helen said. “I know you said Dr. Jenkins didn’t think pre-school was a good idea right now, but I could help him with some homeschooling material. I could watch him while you work. Maybe you could even get a full-time job, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. A full-time job meant more money, which he always needed. He trusted Helen, and Caleb loved her, so she would be a good babysitter-slash-teacher. But then Stiles thought of how tiring being around Caleb could get, not because he was a complicated kid but because kids were hard work in general. Helen was his father’s age, closer to retirement. It wouldn’t be fair.

“I can’t,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“Helen—“

“Honey,” she said as she put both hands on Stiles’ shoulders. He leaned into the touch. “You’re a great dad. Caleb loves you and you love him, there’s no question about that. But you’re still so young. You have people in your life who love you and support you, there’s no need for you to work your way into an early grave.”

“I’m not overworking myself.”

Helen raised an eyebrow. “Raising a child on your own? Check. Working more hours than you’re sleeping? Check. When’s the last time you went out with your friends and didn’t take Caleb with you?”

Stiles did not know the answer to that. If he really thought about it… “I had coffee with a friend last week.”

“And before that?”

Okay, so maybe Stiles had been neglecting his social life, but so what? He’d made the choice to keep his kid, he’d dropped out of college to raise him. It wasn’t as though Stiles had anything else to do but make sure Caleb had everything he needed.

“I don’t know,” he said because it was the truth. He simply didn’t know what to say, or what he wanted, or whether or not he was glad Helen had suggested this.

Helen gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Will you think about it? You don’t have to say yes to anything, all right? I’m not going to intrude in your life if that’s not what you want. But just… think about it. Please.”

Stiles nodded dumbly. It was the least he could do.

*

**_caleb insists on sending you this_ **

**_image0.png_ **

**_Are those fake fangs?_ **

**_yes!! i got them for Halloween last year_ **

**_forgot to throw them out_ **

**_He looks very good_ **

**_How did today go?_ **

**_it was fine_ **

**_caleb missed her a lot_ **

**_rn they’re playing in the tub_ **

**_i mean CALEB is in the tub_ **

**_not Helen_ **

**_they can’t both fit in the tub_ **

**_that’d be weird_ **

**_sorry_ **

**_I’m glad he’s having fun_ **

**_Are you doing okay?_ **

**_yes!_ **

**_super duper_ **

**_Stiles_ **

**_i am (:_ **

**_don’t worry so much sourwolf_ **

**_it’s weird not seeing you_ **

**_i know it’s only been two days but still_ **

**_missing your lunches!_ **

**_(and you dude don’t think im using you for food)_ **

**_It’s weird for me too_ **

**_I miss Caleb_ **

**_And you_ **

**_hey I know this is weird_ **

**_so feel free to say no_ **

**_but are you free tonight around eight?_ **

**_we could facetime so caleb can see you_ **

**_okay I know that sounds very codependent but!!!_ **

**_It’s not like that, he’s fine_ **

**_he just really wants to tell you about the Disney movie we watched_ **

**_Of course. I’m free._ **

**_Call whenever you want to._ **

**_What movie did you watch?_ **

**_the little mermaid lol_ **

**_Ah, now I see why he’s playing in the tub_ **

**_gtg work calls_ **

**_eight’s fine by you then?_ **

**_you can say no you know_ **

**_I don’t want to say no._ **

**_Eight’s perfect._ **

Later that night, after they had eaten dinner and Helen had left, Stiles crawled into Caleb’s bed. This was something they needed to work more on—sleeping in his own bed was an important milestone—and Caleb didn’t make a fuss at all when Stiles curled up around him and told him they were going to call Derek.

Derek picked up on the first ring. His face was beautiful, illuminated softly by the light of his screen. He was in bed too, the pillows under his head so white they looked like snow.

“Hello,” Derek said softly. “How are you, pup?”

“Sleepy,” Stiles answered for Caleb. He carded his fingers through Caleb’s hair softly with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. “Aren’t we, baby?”

Caleb fought back a yawn. “Mhmm. Derek, did you—are mermaids real?”

“I bet they are. There are all sorts of things and people in the sea.”

“Well, I think they’re real. In the movie, the bitch—“

Stiles let out a mortified groan. “The _witch_ , love.”

“—had mean powers and she wanted to eat everyone. Are witches really real?”

“Yes,” Derek said slowly. “They are. But not all of them are mean. Witches are just like werewolves. Some of us are very, very nice. And some of us are not so nice.”

Caleb’s eyes were drooping. “Daddy, can you show Derek the song?”

“I’m sure he’s heard it before. Derek and I watched the movie when we were kids too.”

“But daddy—“

“What song?” Derek said. He was playing dirty. “I don’t think I’ve heard it. Ever.”

“Daddy, please?”

Stiles felt his face heat up. There was no way he was going to sing _Part of your world_ with Derek on the phone. He had some dignity left, thank you very much.

“I’ll hum it,” Stiles said. “Okay? Just close your eyes, love.”

Derek gave him an amused smile. “Should I close mine too?”

“Don’t tease, Mr. I’ve Never Seen The Little Mermaid.”

Caleb squirmed a bit, eyes closed until he found a position he really liked. He was on Stiles’ chest, holding onto his father’s shirt and with his legs tucked around his waist. He really was like a koala.

Slowly, Stiles began to rub his back. After a moment had passed, he added his low humming to the mix. He tried his best to ignore Derek, who’d gone very silent, and focused instead on how good it felt that Caleb was this relaxed and ready to sleep in his own room. Improvement at last.

“Sorry you had to suffer through that,” Stiles whispered when he was done. Caleb was already snoring. “I—“

“You’re beautiful,” Derek said.

They stared at each other for a long minute. Stiles knew his face was red because he could feel the heat under his skin, the tips of his ears throbbing with it. Derek didn’t look ashamed, but it was pretty obvious he hadn’t meant to say that.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Stiles said with a wink. It earned him a quiet laugh.

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

When the call was disconnected, Stiles let himself recover from it. He lay next to Caleb, soaking up all the cuddles he could get, and only when he was sure he wouldn’t’ do anything as stupid as squealing did he get up.

Derek thought he was beautiful.

*

“—and I got you,” Scott said to a laughing Caleb, blowing raspberries against his neck. He picked him up effortlessly, swinging him around until Caleb was red in the face. “So, how much did you miss me?”

Caleb gave him a cheeky smile. He put his hands very close to each other in a silent clap. “This much!”

Scott frowned. “That can’t be. I’m your favorite uncle!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s Jackson,” Stiles said.

“Uncle Jackie,” Caleb said, twisting around in Scott’s arms to get a better look at the house. "Is he coming, daddy?”

“No, baby. He’ll be here for Christmas with Aunt Lydia. They’re very busy right now.”

There was a piece of grass stuck to Caleb’s chin. Scott removed it, tickling him in the process. It was a sunny day, and the smell coming from the barbeque was making Stiles’ mouth water.

“I’m thinking of building a pool,” Scott said offhandedly. At least, that’s how he tried to sound. His eyes were on Caleb’s face, watching his reaction. “Would you like that, Caleb? A big, spacious, enormous pool for you to swim in. It’d be bigger than Aquaman’s whole ocean.”

Caleb looked at Stiles, his lip between his teeth. “Daddy, can a pool be bigger than Aquaman’s ocean?”

“I’m afraid not, love. Uncle Scott is just being a dummy on purpose.”

“Oh,” Caleb said. He turned to Scott once more. “Don’t be a dummy, please.”

Scott almost howled with laughter. Stiles joined in, wiping at his eyes when they became wet, and Caleb watched them with a little frown as though he could not quite understand what was happening.

The doorbell rang a second after Caleb started squirming in Scott’s arms.

“Daddy, it’s Derek! Do you think Derek can build a pool as big as—“

“Hey! If I can’t, then no one else can.”

Caleb gave Scott’s leg a little kick. “But Derek isn’t a dummy!”

Stiles had to hide his face between his hands. It was getting hard to breathe through his cackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! it's been a rough week so i hope this chapter made anyone feel good, it def helped me when I was writing it. the next chapter will finally feature a sterek date! yay! i know i said other characters were coming but that also happens next chapter haha sorry for the misleading note <3 he's one of my fave so i hope you like the way I've written him <3 <3
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!!!


	9. Nine

**Nine**

Stiles stayed in the backyard with Caleb while Scott went to get the door, which gave him a few minutes to regain his composure. He felt hot and sweaty from laughing, but eventually, his giddiness subsided, leaving behind only the nerves he’d been feeling these past few days whenever he thought of Derek and Scott meeting.

Caleb was pouting into Stiles’ thigh. He was angry he hadn’t been allowed to open the door for Derek and show him inside the house.

“Scott knows his house better than we do,” Stiles said, carefully disentangling Caleb’s curls with his hands. He really needed a haircut. “He’ll show Derek all the cool spots, baby.”

Caleb tugged on Stiles’ shirt a couple of times, but Stiles ignored him. Dr. Jenkins said verbal requests were important, and Caleb was old enough to ask for what he wanted.

“Up, daddy,” Caleb said in a shaky voice. Another soft tug followed. “Please?”

“Of course.”

They were in the process of looking at Kira’s new flower beds when the backdoor opened. Stiles took a few deep breaths and turned with Caleb in his arms to greet Derek’s pack.

Boyd and Erica came hand in hand. They looked beautiful together, which had Stiles wondering if he and Derek were the only true mates around. Isaac followed them like a puppy, ducked head and shuffling feet. Derek had his arm around his shoulders, the way an older brother would.

Caleb bounced. Or at least, he tried to. “Derek, I had a fluffy today!”

“Say hi first, love.”

“Hi, Derek,” Caleb said, ignoring everyone else in the process. “I had a fluffy.”

Derek smiled at him, but he didn’t let go of Isaac to get closer. It felt strange because Derek usually held Caleb first thing when they saw each other. 

“What’s a fluffy, pup?”

Erica snorted. Her blonde hair looked like a thousand golden threads under the sun. “It’s a pancake, Derek. You’re so uncool sometimes.”

“The diner downtown calls them that,” Stiles said. “Caleb wanted his grandma to try them out, so we drove there for breakfast and had a whole stack. Sorry you missed it.”

Scott came out of the house with Kira in tow. They were carrying tall glasses of lemonade, the kind that Melissa used to make for them when they were kids. Caleb loved it, and Stiles suspected it was because it was made with real lemons and little sugar.

“Ladies first,” Erica said as she plucked a glass from Kira’s tray. They shared a look. “I love this yard. Are those orchids?”

Kira took the compliment with grace. “Yeah, they’re very easy to grow. I’m actually thinking of using the free space over there to have my own vegetable patch, but it sounds like too much work.”

“Really? God, Boyd, that sounds so amazing. We should—”

Boyd was shaking his head before Erica was even done talking. “Please don’t give her any wild ideas, Kira.”

“She killed a cactus once,” Isaac said. His voice was lower than usual, a bit breathier. Stiles saw Derek give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And a cat.”

“I didn’t kill Mr. Whiskers,” Erica said. “He ran away.”

Subtly, Boyd made a throat-cutting gesture.

Stiles only grabbed one glass for both Caleb and him, knowing Caleb wouldn’t finish one by himself. Scott had remembered the straw, at least. Maybe it meant Stiles wouldn’t be forced to do laundry as soon as he got home to get the lemonade stains off of Caleb’s shirt.

“I can’t believe you’re telling a veterinarian I killed my pet.”

Isaac shrugged, looking bashful. “It is what it is.”

“It’s fine,” Scott said. “I won’t send Stiles’ dad after you if that’s what worries you.”

Caleb took a long sip through the straw Stiles was holding to his mouth. When he was done he smacked his lips and let out a satisfied sigh that had Stiles rolling his eyes. He was such an actor. 

“Please don’t,” Erica said. “Derek would piss his pants if—”

The doorbell rang.

Kira and Scott shared a confused look. Stiles was about to speak up when he noticed the firm lines of Derek’s muscles becoming even clearer through his shirt. He was tensing up, and not just because of Erica’s comment.

“Here we go,” Boyd said.

“I’ll be right back,” Derek said, letting go of Isaac for the first time since he’d gotten there. “I just need—a second.”

Caleb frowned when Derek started to leave. “Daddy, where is he going? You said he was going to eat with us.”

“He’s dealing with his crazy uncle,” Isaac said. “Hey, Caleb, do you know how to do cartwheels?”

Scott was already disappearing into the house, following Derek. Stiles wanted to know what the hell was happening. He started to lower Caleb to the ground but was unsuccessful. 

“Let go, baby. I need to go help Uncle Scott with something. Let Isaac teach you how to cartwheels.”

Caleb made grabby hands at Isaac, who simply stared dumbfounded for a full minute. Erica elbowed him, hard, in the stomach.

“He wants you to hold him,” Erica said.

“How does one hold a baby?”

Caleb huffed. He did not like anyone but Stiles calling him a baby. 

“Just make sure he doesn’t slip,” Stiles said as he handed Caleb over to Isaac. He guided Isaac’s hands so they were resting on Caleb’s back and bum, making it impossible for his kid to fall. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

“What’s a car-wield?”

“Cartwheel,” Isaac said. “Here, let’s sit down so I can show you.”

Stiles didn’t waste another second. He made his way across the yard as quickly as he could, then crossed Scott’s gigantic dining room and narrow hall that led to the front door. Scott and Derek were nowhere to be seen, but the door was slightly ajar. 

Without thinking, Stiles pushed it open.

“—be invited,” Derek was saying. He sounded angry, but the man he was talking to looked unaffected by his tone. “You can’t just show up like this.”

Stiles took a step forward, but Scott held him back by the elbow. The argument went on in front of them, the man stoic and amused at the same time while Derek became more and more agitated. Finally, the man’s eyes left Derek’s face to land lazily, as if by accident, on Stiles.

A smile spread across the man’s face. He looked a lot like Derek when he smiled.

“Hello there,” he said. “I’m Peter, Derek’s beloved uncle. You must be Stiles.”

“Hi,” Stiles said, awkward and unsure. He looked at Scott for support and received only a shrug. “Would you like to—”

Derek stepped between them. “No. Peter was just about to leave.”

Peter pulled a little box from his pocket. He was wearing jeans, not tight enough to make him look like a teenager, but not loose enough that they could be considered out of style. They suited him nicely, and Stiles found himself wondering if all of Derek’s family was this pretty.

“I have a gift for Caiden,” Peter said, waving the little box back and forth.

“It’s Caleb, not—”

“That is exactly what I said, nephew.” Peter turned to Stiles with a dazzling smile. “So, sweetheart, would you be so kind as to let me in? I would hate to think you’re rejecting my present.”

Derek didn’t move an inch, but he did relax slightly when Sitles touched his arm. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles said. “He’s not dangerous, is he? I’m sure Caleb will like meeting more of your packmates.”

“He’s not in my pack,” Derek said.

Peter sniffed. “Is that lemonade? I would love a glass. Or two.”

Despite Derek’s resistance, Peter managed to slither his way into the house, talking to Scott animatedly about the decorations and the pictures on the walls. He sounded like a sane person to Stiles, but then again, Stiles had a tendency to be very wrong about people. 

Once Peter and Scott had disappeared into the dining room, Stiles stopped Derek. It’d been days since they’d seen each other, and being so close to him had Stiles’ stomach clenching and unclenching nervously. It was like being twenty again, all butterflies and heartburn.

Stiles’ hand folded over Derek’s elbow. The skin under his fingertips was warm and soft, and Stiles had never wanted so badly to lean into a touch. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Derek said, not sounding okay at all.

“Is he really your uncle?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Derek—”

“It’s fine. He’s not evil or crazy or… He’s just annoying.”

Stiles gave him a small smile. “He brought a present for my kid. How bad can he be?”

Derek did not look amused. Wryly: “He thought his name was Caiden.”

“It’s a pretty name.”

“Caleb is prettier,” Derek said. “And he shouldn’t have shown up like this. He wasn’t invited. It’s just—he’s—”

“I know how hard it can be to get along with one’s family, but he sounded…” Cocky? Funny? Quirky? “Cool.”

“Cool is not a word I’d use to describe Peter.”

Stiles squeezed Derek’s arm. God, it was three times Stiles’. “Let’s go, big guy. We have a lot of people to entertain.”

They started walking again. It wasn’t until they’d reached the glass doors that lead to the yard that Derek let out one of his amused huffs, the sound he usually made when Stiles had said something funny.

“‘Big guy?’ Really?”

“Would you rather I called you dude?”

Derek smiled.  _ I’d call you anything you asked me to _ , Stiles thought of saying, but didn’t. Because it was lame. And untrue. There were certain things he wouldn’t call Derek, like  _ puppy  _ or  _ sir _ .

Daddy was in the ‘Consideration’ area.

*

Caleb was attempting to do a cartwheel as Isaac cheered him on. He had grass and a smudge of dirt on his face, and his hair was a mess, a little twig stuck on his curls. But they were both smiling and laughing, which made Stiles relax. Maybe teaching Caleb how to do cartwheels hadn’t been the wisest choice—he could see him two days from now, jumping around the apartment and landing on all the wrong spots—but it certainly was the most entertaining.

Derek was still tense beside Stiles, watching his uncle approach Caleb. Stiles squeezed his arm again, but it didn’t do any good. Whatever worries Derek was fostering, they did not go away just by standing close to Stiles.

Gracefully, Peter sat down on the grass. He was quick to put a stilling hand on Caleb’s shoulder after he clumsily rolled around.

“Hello,” Peter said. “I’m Derek’s uncle.”

Caleb looked down at the hand on his shoulder. To Stiles’ surprise, he didn’t try to shake it off or run away but rather stayed where he was and met Peter’s gaze with interest. Maybe it was a wolf thing.

“Say hello, love,” Stiles told him. 

“Hello,” Caleb said. He was blinking a lot. “Can you do a call-win?”

Isaac let out a surprised laugh. “Cartwheel, Caleb.”

“I think I’m a bit too old for that,” Peter said. “But lucky for you, I got you something far more interesting than dumb cartwheels.”

Caleb looked at Stiles. Mechanically, he said, “Thank you.”

It made Stiles both proud and amused. Caleb hadn’t even seen the gift and he was already saying thank you. Separation anxiety might be an issue for him, but not manners.

Peter handed Caleb the little box he’d shown Stiles at the door. The wrapping was blue and there was a little bow on it, white and pompous. They all watched Caleb tear it apart, little hands clumsily trying to get to the fun bit.

“Peter,” Derek half-said, half-growled. “Is that a fucking lighter?”

It was. Stickers of cute dogs covered it entirely, but there was no missing that it was, in fact, a lighter. Stiles didn’t worry too much, for Caleb did not know how to use one. It wasn’t even automatic.

“Daddy,” Caleb said. “Derek said a bad word and…” He hesitated, brow furrowed. “And he didn’t say thank you.”

Peter was on his feet, dusting off the back of his jeans. To Derek, he said, “Lighters are useful. What if he wants to light a fire in the middle of the woods and he doesn’t have any matches? Or what if he wants to burn some grass?”

“He’s not even four,” Derek said, advancing towards him. “You can’t just gift a kid a lighter. Are you insane? Actually, don’t answer that.”

“ _ I _ will manage it for him until he’s old enough to sneak out of the house to smoke. Look at you, Derek. I never thought I’d see you like this.”

“Told you,” Erica said. She was hanging out with Kira and Scott a few steps away. Boyd had excused himself to the bathroom. “It’s even worse when Stiles is not around.”

Derek’s ears were rapidly turning red. “Will both of you stop?”

“Peter is trying to be the cool uncle,” Isaac said. “But I’m winning.”

Scott didn’t seem to like that. He was frowning, something he never did unless a dog died or someone disrespected Kira. “Hey now, that’s me.”

“Caleb,” Peter said, fake fear in his voice. Derek was fisting the front of his shirt. “Please help me! Derek is being awfully rude to me. Look, he’s even—”

Caleb toddled forward and held on to Derek’s jeans. He pulled and pulled, tapping Derek’s thigh to get him to stop. “Be nice, Derek.”

It was as though an Alpha command had possessed Derek at Caleb’s words. He let go of Peter’s shirt and took a few calming breaths before lowering himself to Caleb’s level. He didn’t even look annoyed, and Stiles couldn’t help the fondness that spread across his chest when he saw Derek pick Caleb up.

“I wasn’t very nice, was I?” Derek said, tersely. “I’m sorry, pup.”

Caleb was still frowning. “Daddy says you have to say sorry to the wrong one.”

“Wronged one,” Stiles said, smiling. “It means you have to apologize to your uncle, Derek.”

Derek’s expression was of abject misery. “He gave your kid a lighter.”

“With dog stickers,” Peter added. “And a safety lock.”

“That doesn’t make it for children.”

“I don’t know,” Boyd said, closing the back door behind him. “I wouldn’t buy one that looked like that. It kind of does look like it’s meant for kids.”

“Maybe keep it PG next time?” Stiles said. “Other than that, thank you for thinking of Caleb.”

Caleb held the lighter to Derek’s beard. He obviously didn’t know how it worked, but Derek’s expression still turned from angry to horrified. 

With surprising ease, Peter plucked the lighter from Caleb’s hand. Then, he proceeded to use it. “Behold, child. A small fire.”

“Like the stove,” Caleb said. He kept his hand on Derek’s cheek, fingers half-buried in his beard. “It’s very hot, and I can’t touch it.”

“Exactly,” Derek said. “It’s pretty to look at, but it’s very dangerous. Which is why Uncle Peter should know better.”

Peter made the small flame disappear. “Well, I’m sorry, nephew. I haven’t spoken to a child in ten years. Excuse me for not knowing what the youths are up to these days. You said he liked dogs.”

“So you got him a lighter?”

Peter let out a sigh. It sounded dramatic. “That’s where the stickers came into play, Derek.”

“Next time,” Erica said through her straw, “you should check out the bubble machine at Walmart. It looks pretty fun.”

“Er,” Scott said, clearing his throat awkwardly. He’d been making faces at Stiles since this whole thing had started. “Food’s ready.”

“Thank God,” Peter said. “I’m starving. What’s on the menu?”

Derek looked like a man minutes away from having a stroke. He opened his mouth slowly, probably to tell Peter to fuck off, but then Caleb put his hand over it. 

“Yucky,” he said. “Use your hand for yawning.”

“Yeah, Derek,” Isaac said. “Yucky.”

“Daddy, can I sit with Isaac?”

Stiles bit his lip. “I don’t know, baby. He’ll have to cut up your food. It’s a—”

“It’s not a problem,” Isaac said, already on his feet. He huddled close to Derek and, in turn, to Caleb. “I’m good at cutting food up. Can I?”

“I call dibs on the other seat next to Caleb.”

Erica was laughing and choking on her lemonade all at the same time. “Peter, no one says dibs anymore.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Derek said softly to Stiles. Everyone around them was joking and arguing, but Derek’s eyes were on Stiles’ face, trying to read his expression. In his arms, Caleb looked even smaller than usual. “We’re a bit too much sometimes.”

Stiles smiled. It was scary how easy it was to be happy around Derek. “You’re really not.”

*

Once lunch was over, Stiles offered to bring out some coffee and ice-cream to give both Kira and Scott a moment to relax. He was in the kitchen, waiting for the ice-cream to melt enough that he could scoop it into bowls when Peter walked in.

Peter leaned against the counter, just two steps away from Stiles, and said nothing for a long time. His eyes were on the coffee mugs, then on Stiles’ hand as he tried to fight a losing battle with the ice-cream.

“So,” Peter said, and that word alone flooded the whole kitchen. “A little bird told me you need a lawyer. Oh, sweetheart, don’t look so surprised.”

Stiles closed his mouth. Then opened it again. “I—it’s fine. I won’t need one until a few weeks.”

“That’s not what Derek told me.”

“I appreciate you asking,” Stiles said, even though he did not appreciate anyone butting into his personal problems. “But I’m handling it.”

“Lawyers are very expensive,” Peter said. “You could use that money on Caleb instead of throwing it at a stranger in a suit.”

Stiles snorted. His hand trembled as he scooped more chocolate ice-cream into the bowl. “Yeah, well. Lawyers don’t tend to work for free, do they? And the state ones are—”

“Not that great. Especially not against Deucalion.”

Thomas’ lawyer was a bit of a cut-throat. Stiles had googled him a thousand times, feeling bile rise up his throat every time he came across a picture of the man’s stern and cold face. Supposedly, he’d won every single case he’d ever taken on. He was bad news.

“Lucky for you,” Peter said, “I know a guy who won’t charge you a penny. He’s not only extremely talented in the courtroom, but also good-looking. And he’s great with kids. And ladies.” A pause followed. “And men, really.”

Stiles just stared at him.

“It’s me, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

“You’re a lawyer?”

“I co-own a law firm,” Peter said. “Hale & Co? Ever heard of it? My sister and I are partners.”

Stiles had heard of it. That was something that had come up in the google search he’d done on Derek’s name all those weeks ago, but he’d never thought to ask Derek for a favor this big. According to the internet, Hale & Co. was big and vicious and they never got involved in family stuff.

They were also extremely expensive.

“I can’t pay you,” Stiles said.

“I know. I said I wouldn’t charge you, remember?”

“No. I mean—” Stiles pushed through his embarrassment, trying to remember that part of being an adult was having awkward conversations with people. “I can’t pay you now, or next year. It’s—I really don’t have the money.”

Peter frowned. Leaning closer, he said, “Derek didn’t tell me you had hearing problems.”

“What?”

“I said free. No payment. No nada. F-R-E-E.”

“Why would you do that?”

Again, Peter looked confused. With his eyebrows touching each other, he looked more like Derek than ever before. An older, wittier version of Derek. “You’re Derek’s mate. Why wouldn’t I do that?”

“But—”

“Also, Caleb’s cute. It’s not his fault his other parent is a dickhead.”

Stiles tried shaking his head. His throat felt tight, closed. “It’s too much. Maybe you could help me find a cheaper lawyer? Someone who accepts… I don’t know, credit cards?”

“I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”

“I just don’t want to feel like I owe you,” Stiles said. “What if things don’t work out with Derek? I’m not saying you wouldn’t be true to your word, but I—”

Peter let out a quiet laugh. His smile was all teeth. “Stiles, I’m not sure what Derek told you about mates, but it doesn’t work like that. Even if ‘things don’t work out’, he’s not going to stop caring about you and your kid.”

“Hey,” Scott said from the doorway. “Is everything okay?”

Stiles knew why Scott was asking, knew he probably reeked of shame and anxiety. Sometimes being friends with a werewolf was no fun. 

“Everything’s peachy,” Peter said. He took one of Stiles’ hands in his and pressed a cold card to it. “Call me. I won’t stop pestering you until you do.”

Scott waited until Peter was out of the kitchen to approach Stiles. He looked concerned, and Stiles knew his worry had nothing to do with the melting ice-cream on the counter. When he put his hands on Stiles’ elbows, Stiles felt a little bit like crying.

And of course, Scott noticed.

“Hey,” he said, pulling Stiles in for a hug. “What happened? Was he rude to you?”

Stiles shook his head. Or tried to, at least, because it was hard with his face plastered to Scott’s chest. “No. He offered to be my lawyer.”

“And that’s… bad?”

“For free, Scott. He—I can’t accept that kind of favor.”

Scott squeezed his nape. “Then don’t. We’ll think of something else, all right? There’s no need to stress yourself out now.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, pulling back a little. “Let’s go back out. We have ice-cream to deliver.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, and paused. Then: “Okay. Caleb was already a bit antsy because you weren’t coming back.”

Together they finished plating the gooey mess that was the ice-cream and putting the coffees on a plate so they’d be easier to carry. Outside, everyone seemed to be getting along. Boyd and Erica were talking to Kira, Isaac was playing with Caleb on the grass while Derek watched, and Peter was switching the lighter on and off like a kid. 

They all had coffee and laughed at the face Caleb made when he took a sip of Isaac’s. Slowly, over the course of the next hour, they all started to leave. Boyd and Erica told Stiles next month there’d be a party at their house and that he was more than welcome to attend it. Then, Peter told Isaac he’d give him a ride back to Derek’s. They both argued all the way to the car about whether or not one of them was Caleb’s favorite.

And then there was only Derek.

He was holding Caleb, rocking him back and forth next to the orchids, so slightly it would have been easy to miss. Caleb, being Stiles’ kid, was already tired out and close to falling asleep with his head on Derek’s shoulder. It’d be a pain to pry open his hand so he’d let go of Derek’s shirt.

Stiles walked up to them, forcing the flood of irrational thoughts that kept coming at him when he saw Derek with his kid. 

“I’m sorry about Peter,” Derek said softly. “He wasn’t supposed to show up like this.”

“Why did he?”

Caleb made a gurgling sound.

“He wanted to meet you. As you’ve noticed, he’s not the most patient person around.”

Stiles smiled. He liked Peter. “Invite him next time then.”

They watched the orchids for a while. Every once in a while, Derek would pat Caleb’s back or nose his cheek, and the sight hurt Stiles to the point where it was just easier to look away.  _ It’s too soon _ , he told himself for the billionth time. 

“You said Caleb’s grandmother is in town?”

“Yes, she’s staying here until Tuesday. I convinced her to book her hotel for an extra day.”

Derek watched him for a second, not saying anything. Then, just when Stiles thought he’d asked out of curiosity, he said, “Could she watch Caleb tomorrow? I’d like us to go somewhere.”

“Somewhere as in…?”

“A date,” Derek said. It was easy to see he was trying not to roll his eyes. “A proper one. Caleb can tag along, you know I—”

“I know,” Stiles said. “But I think it’s best if he stays back for once. Helen would love to spend some alone time with him. Do I get to know where we’re going?”

Derek’s smile was rueful, sincere. “No. I’ll pick you up at five. Is that okay?”

If Stiles worked hard today and tomorrow morning, he’d be free by one p.m. He nodded, already trying to guess where exactly Derek was going to take him. He wouldn’t put it past Derek to drive for four hours so Stiles could see the beach.

*

**_Stiles!_ **

**_who is this?_ **

**_I’m wounded that you haven’t saved my number yet._ **

**_peter?_ **

**_how did you get my contact info??_ **

**_I might have gone through Derek’s contact list_ **

**_Anyways! I just wanted to keep in touch_ **

**_You know, make sure we’re connected_ **

**_Please think about the offer I made you_ **

**_i will_ **

**_Can I have your address?_ **

**_what?_ **

**_why?_ **

**_I want to send Caleb some gifts._ **

**_thank you, but you really don’t have to_ **

**_he has more than enough toys as it is_ **

**_please don’t spoil him, i’m begging you_ **

**_These aren’t toys!_ **

**_Oh, please. Will you deny an old man like me this?_ **

**_I’ve already bought them._ **

**_you don’t give up, do you?_ **

**_I’m nothing if not persistent._ **

**_fine, but PLEASE don’t send anything crazy_ **

**_seriously_ **

**_Cross my heart._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! sorry you had to wait almost a week for this. life has been super crazy, which is why I didn't have enough time to write and edit the date!!! again, super sorry that you'll have to wait another chapter for the romance to really start hahaha. can you guys guess what peter bought caleb? <3 he's not crazy in this, as you can tell. also, just to make things clear, the fire never happened. kate never happened either.
> 
> thank you all so much for reading!!!!


	10. Ten

**Ten**

“But why can’t I go, daddy?” Caleb asked for the fifth time that day. 

Stiles repressed a sigh. He told himself he didn’t have a reason to be annoyed, not a real one anyway. Caleb liked Derek, so it only made sense that he wanted to tag along to wherever Derek was taking Stiles. 

They were sitting on Caleb’s bed, trying to pick an outfit for the day. Usually, Stiles did it by himself and just dressed Caleb in whatever he thought would be best considering the weather, but today Stiles decided to be a bit more indulgent. Sitting in nothing but his green fluffy robe, Caleb was looking at Stiles with a pout.

“Well,” Stiles said, stalling. He’d already explained a bunch of times why Caleb had to stay at home with Helen, but the reasons were starting to sound dumb even to his own ears. “Grandma is here to see you, baby. She drove all the way from her house to spend time with you, and Derek and I have to do some things today that are very boring. You’ll have a lot of fun here with Grandma.”

“But—”

“I bet she’ll let you have some ice cream if you’re a good boy.”

That made Caleb pause, although not for long. “Can Grandma go with me and you and Derek?”

“No, love. She’s going to be super bored. It’s for the best if you stay here with her and show her all your toys and watch some cartoons with her.”

Caleb rubbed his eyes with his fists, roughly. It meant he was close to crying, and so Stiles gathered him in his lap. The robe was damp, but Stiles did not mind. He knew Derek wouldn’t mind that his jeans got wet either.

“Caleb,” Stiles said, making sure Caleb was looking at him. “She came to see you because she loves you a lot. Do you remember what happens to the frog in that story Grandpa always tells you?”

“She was sad because no one wanted—she didn’t have friends to play with.”

“That’s right. So, when Grandma comes here to see you, she doesn’t have any friends to play with but you. And it’s not very nice to let her be sad just because you want to see Derek, is it?”

Caleb didn’t protest again after that. He picked a pair of sweats with drawings of sheep and the shirt Derek had gifted him that night they went over for pizza. It had quickly become a favorite, something Stiles was unsure how to feel about. It was, by far, the most expensive shirt Caleb now owned.

They were settling on the couch to watch a Peppa Pig episode when the doorbell rang. Stiles let Helen in, feeling nervous and a bit shy even though he’d texted her to let her know that he was going on a date. Maybe it was weird to tell his ex’s mom that, but Stiles liked her. She was the closest thing he had to a mom besides Melissa.

Caleb hugged her the moment she stepped into the living room. “Don’t be sad, grandma,” he said against her thigh. “We can play with my Legos.”

Helen gave Stiles a questioning look.

“I told him you’d be sad if he came with me and Derek,” Stiles said in a low voice. He watched as Helen picked Caleb up and kissed his cheek. “Helen, if you need anything at all, you—”

“I’ll call you,” Helen said. “Or the cops, depending on the situation.”

Stiles tried not to let it show on his face that the cops were definitely scarier. He’d completely avoided telling his dad he was going out with Derek, and that was not the way Stiles wanted him to find out.

Helen smiled over Caleb’s head. “You look like a snack.”

“God,” Stiles protested, flushing. He didn’t know what to do with his hands except use them to hide his face. “Who even says that word anymore?”

“Daddy’s not an apple,” Caleb said, frowning. “You can’t eat him, grandma.”

“Snack is a word people use to say someone is very pretty.”

“And apples,” Stiles added, “are not the only snacks ever. They’re just your favorite.”

Caleb put his head on Helen’s shoulder and played with her necklace. “I’m a snack.”

Cackling, Helen walked over to the couch and sat down with Caleb on her lap. Her clothes today matched the mood perfectly, comfortable jeans and a different sweater from the one she’d worn to the park. 

Stiles used his time wisely. He went into his room and checked himself out in the mirror, obsessively making sure his shirt covered the scar on his neck. He didn’t exactly know what the dress code was, but he imagined it was casual. Derek hadn’t told him to wear a suit, after all.

Before Stiles could freak out and change his shirt again, his phone buzzed against his thigh with a text from Derek.  **_I’m outside_ ** **.** Then, a second later,  **_Please bring a jacket. It’s cold._ **

“Give daddy a kiss,” Helen said to Caleb, holding him up when Stiles approached them. “Good luck. And text me if you need me to go pick you up.”

Stiles let Caleb kiss his cheek. He ruffled his hair, which had Caleb trying to swat his hands away, huffing. Then, to Helen, “Thank you for doing this.”

“What? Spending an awesome time with my grandson? Watching cartoons? Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles dithered by the door. “Okay. I’ve got my phone, my keys, my wallet… Am I forgetting something?”

“Just have fun, honey. Everything will be fine.”

Caleb waved at him, opening and closing his hand. “Bye, daddy. Tell Derek hi.” There was a pause, during which Caleb got distracted by something on the TV. “Can Derek come after the boring things?”

“I’ll ask him, baby.”

And just like that, Stiles opened the door and left. His heart was trying to find its way out of his chest as he made his way down the stairs, and his hands were sweaty. It was gross, really. He’d have a shower and yet he was sweating a lot, and his mouth was dry. God, what if Derek tried to kiss him and Stiles’ tongue was all sand-papery? What if—

“Hello,” Derek said as soon as Stiles opened the door. He looked so, so good. And then he smiled, softly, and Stiles honestly forgot how to breathe. “You look—”

“Fucking hot,” Stiles blurted out. Then flushed accordingly. “No, I meant that you look fucking hot. Not me. Like, I’m not complimenting myself. That’d be weird.”

Derek’s smile only widened. “It’s not weird if it’s true.”

There was a black, shiny car parked on Stiles’ driveway. It looked expensive, all tinted windows and new tires, and Stiles was about to comment on it when he noticed Derek was walking directly towards it.

“Is that your car?”

Derek opened the passenger door, holding it for Stiles. “Yes. It was a gift from my parents a few years back.” He frowned a bit. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Stiles rushed to say, a little too loudly. “No, no. It’s—I love it. But I thought you had a different car?”

“I have three cars. One of them is Isaac’s, but I use it from time to time.”

Which meant Derek had deliberately chosen to pick Stiles up in this particular car. Which meant he was trying to be fancy. It made Stiles’ heart flutter.

Stiles got into the car. The leather seats were cool and it all smelled of wood and pines, which wasn’t strange at all. Knowing Derek, everything was possible. Instead of feeling out of place in his worn-out, too casual clothes, Stiles breathed in and relaxed. 

As Derek started the car, Stiles said, “So, Mr. Mystery, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I know, but you could still give me a clue." 

"Scott told me you like reading," Derek said. "I imagine there's not a lot of stuff online when it comes to the supernatural. So, I thought you'd like to visit a place where—"

"Oh my God. You're taking me to the new library that opened last month on Trenner Street?"

Derek's eyes were on the road, giving nothing away. "Maybe."

"Derek, that's like the most exclusive library on the west coast.” Stiles laughed at Derek’s expression. “Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but… Dude, seriously? I tried to go there a week after the inauguration and they told me I had to make a reservation.”

“They’re very exclusive.”

“How did you—”

“I know the owner,” Derek said. He took a left turn slowly. “She’s friends with my youngest sister, and I thought you’d like it there. They, uh. There are lots of books.”

Stiles wanted to laugh at him, but Derek sounded too sweet. “It’s a library.”

A frown. “I know. I meant that there are lots of books about supernatural things that you can’t buy anywhere else. You mentioned…”

“I like doing research,” Stiles said. He’d only mentioned it once in passing, nothing too specific, and yet Derek had remembered. “It’s awesome. Thank you.”

Derek flushed slightly at the compliment. “We could go out for dinner after. If you want.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.”

“Two times good.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, close to laughing. “That’s not a real expression.”

“I’m wounded by your ignorance. Of course it’s a real expression. A real expression is an expression real people use. I’m a real person, am I not?”

The rest of the ride consisted of Stiles trying to make Derek laugh. When Derek laughed, his whole face lit up, bunny teeth and dimples out, and it made Stiles feel the warmest he’d been in a long time. Stiles was starting to think Derek’s daily frowns were more a front he put up than a real personality trait.

Derek parked the car and got out without a word. Not a second had passed before he was on the other side, opening Stiles’ door for him. Maybe Stiles should have been bothered by it—there was something a bit old-fashioned about it—but he felt too good to care. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be taken care of.

“Thanks,” Stiles said as he climbed out. It came out softer than he’d intended. 

Subtly, Derek offered him a hand as he closed the door. Stiles took it, marveling at how soft Derek’s skin was, how right it felt to have their fingers interlocked. The last time he’d held hands with someone above the age of three… It had probably been with Scott. But this felt nicer. 

It felt right.

The library was called Evening Hour Library, which Stiles thought was a bit pretentious. Derek guided him inside by the hand, and it was surprisingly warm once they’d crossed the door. 

It was unlike any other place Stiles has ever been to. The ceilings were high, and every bit of wall was covered with bookshelves. Even though it was such a popular place, there were barely any people around, and Stiles found himself looking everywhere at once. The lights imitated the orange glow of candles, giving the place a very comforting feeling.

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand. “I—thank you.”

Derek’s smile was blinding. “Come on, there’s something I want you to see.”

Without hesitation, Stiles followed him. They walked slowly into a hallway lined with books, and then another. And another. Stiles was about to open his mouth to ask Derek if he knew where they were going when Derek gently guided him left, taking a turn. There was a sign above them.  _ The Occult: Limited Editions. _

“Your last book,” Derek said with renewed awkwardness. “You said it had to do with runes.”

Stiles couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“I asked Scott to make sure I wasn’t—that I hadn’t misunderstood. He told me you liked your Supernatural studies class so much in college you were considering majoring in it.” Derek’s thumb traced the inside of Stiles’ wrist. “He also told me you like computers, but this was—”

“Derek,” Stiles said.

Derek avoided his eyes. “You can pick any books you want. As I said, I know the owner. It could really help you at work, having the right kind of information available.”

Stiles took a step towards the books. With his free hand, he traced the leather spines, felt the soft vibrations of magic thrumming through them. It was the most amazing thing Stiles had ever felt.

“Thank you,” Stiles said, but the words sounded too small to his own ears. He did not know how to explain to Derek what this meant to him. “I can’t believe we’re here. It’s—” He swallowed, trying to regain his composure. He was not going to ruin this by crying. 

“I’m glad you like it.”

Stiles laughed wetly. He thought of punching Derek’s chest. “Like it? I think I’m in love.”

Derek didn’t react.

“No, no,” Stiles hurried to add. “I meant in love with this place, not you. Not that I would mind being in love with—It’s just a bit soon. I mean, you—God, I better shut up.”

“I like it when you talk.”

The quiet admission took Stiles’ breath away. It was stupid, because it wasn’t the first compliment Derek had ever paid him. He’d called Stiles beautiful the other day, but somehow this was more personal. All his life, Stiles had been told to shut up, to quiet down, to stop fidgeting and blabbering. And now here was Derek, telling him Stiles’ rants were something he liked.

Stiles cleared his throat. His face felt like it was on fire. “Okay, sourwolf. Let’s find some books about mates. And runes.”

*

The heavy bags filled with books stayed in Derek’s car. Stiles had been hesitant to pick more than one book, but Derek had rolled his eyes and grabbed the ones he’d seen Stiles ogling during their visit. Three of them were about the difference between healing runes and protective runes, which Stiles’ editor would greatly appreciate. The rest were about werewolves, both centering around the cubs and mates. It was nothing like the Internet.

The restaurant was only a few minutes away, a beautiful building of three colors: white, black, and red. It was called Moonlight, which Stiles found very ironic. It was the fanciest place Stiles had ever been to.

Stiles wanted to moan after taking his first bite of pasta and chicken. It was creamy and delicious and he could practically taste the high-quality of it. He saw Derek smile as he watched him chew.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Ever.”

“Even better than my food?” Derek said, pretending to be offended. Stiles could see right through his little frown. “At least Caleb likes my pizza.”

“Caleb likes figs. I think we both know his taste buds are just not all there.”

A quiet laugh. Under the table, their knees brushed against each other, sending shivers up and down Stiles’ spine. And wasn’t that just the biggest cliché? Shivers, really?

“Tell me more about him,” Derek said. “It feels like I don’t know nearly enough yet.”

Stiles pushed the pasta around on his plate. There were so many things to be said about Caleb—how smart he was, how kind, how he loved animals even when they were scary, how he was the only person in Stiles’ life that loved him unconditionally. But what came out of Stiles’ mouth was something different.

“He was the tiniest baby ever when he was born,” Stiles said. “I thought he would be born shifted, all furry and—don’t laugh at me, Derek. I watched a Discovery Channel documentary where a woman gave birth to six pups. Like, literal—”

“I think that only ever happens if both parents are werewolves. And even then it’s pretty rare.”

“Were you born like that?”

Derek tilted his head. He looked like a curious bird. “No, but my sister Laura was. She’s very intense, which maybe explains it all.”

“Laura is the eldest, right? And then there’s… Caroline?”

“Cora,” Derek said, laughing again. “She’s a rebel, but I think you’d like her a lot. Laura is… She’s an alpha too.”

Stiles blinked and almost missed his mouth, water dribbling down his chin. “Two alphas in one family? How does that work?”

“Well, she’s older than me, so she’ll be the alpha of my family when my parents are gone. I could have stayed in that pack if I’d really wanted to, but I think she and I would have clashed too much. So when I was old enough to find my own pack, I did.”

They were quiet for a moment, both of them eating and drinking. Their table was tucked into a fancy corner of the restaurant, giving them plenty of privacy. Stiles had a feeling Derek also knew the owner of this place.

“So,” Stiles said, swallowing an enormous bite of asparagus. “How did you find Erica and Boyd? And Isaac.”

“Boyd and I went to school together as kids,” Derek said. “He started dating Erica in eighth grade and we all just… I gave Erica the Bite when she was eighteen because she was sick. Then Boyd decided he wanted it too.”

“That’s—wasn’t he afraid? That it wouldn’t take.”

“Boyd’s very peculiar.”

Stiles could understand that. He’d been told he was peculiar himself. “And Isaac? He looks so young.”

Derek didn’t answer right away. He ate gracefully, a bite of steak and salad, then a sip of water. The lull in their conversation went on for so long that Stiles was certain he hadn’t been heard. And then, Derek said, “He went to highschool with Cora. His dad had—” Another pause. “Isaac was always over at my house, so I knew him pretty well. When he was seventeen he got really hurt, and so I offered to give him the Bite too.”

Isaac’s anxious demeanor was starting to make a bit more sense to Stiles. He’d always seemed skittish, as though afraid Derek would snap at him. Or worse. Stiles wasn’t an idiot, he knew what went on inside other people’s homes was often very different from the happy front they put up. His dad had been called in too many times for domestic violence for Stiles to think all families were peaceful.

“I’m sorry he had to go through that,” Stiles said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “He seems like a good kid.”

Derek gave him a smile. It was soft around the edges. “He’s a great kid. Because of all the shit that happened when he was in high school, he missed his last year. That’s why he’s been studying every time you’ve seen him. He’s trying to get his life together.”

Stiles felt a pang of jealousy and ignored it. He hoped Derek had not been able to smell it on him. “Is he going to college?”

“Yes. Until recently he wanted to study psychology, but now…”

“Now?”

“He really likes Caleb,” Derek said. “And he likes the way you treat him. I don’t think he’s ever been around small children this much before, so it’s given him a lot to think about. He doesn’t know what he wants to do yet, but he told Erica he’d like to work with kids.”

Stiles could see it. Isaac was good to Caleb, liked all the games Caleb proposed and always came up with new ones himself. He was calm, not in the submissive way some omegas behaved, but rather cautious. He was careful.

“This is the most you’ve talked since I met you,” Stiles blurted out. At Derek’s expression, he laughed. “I like it. I like your pack.”

_ And you _ .”

Derek shifted, awkward, in his seat. After clearing his throat, he said, “I guess it’s your turn now.”

“To blabber?”

“Yes.”

Stiles laughed. “Careful, Derek. You don’t know exactly how much I can blabber.”

The waitress came over then, slowly taking their plates away and asking them what they’d like for dessert. Under Derek’s recommendation, Stiles ended up ordering a slice of mango cake. 

“It’s just you and your dad, right?” Derek said, not unkindly, once the waitress had left. “And Caleb.”

Stiles gave a little shrug. The ripples of pain were soft, almost easy to ignore. “Yes. My mom died when I was ten and my dad never remarried. Then Caleb came along and… I…” He laughed, and it sounded choked. “Thomas has a big family. I thought, back when we were together, that things would be different with him around. A big pack.”

“Was he always so…”

“No. He was actually nice before I got pregnant.”

Derek frowned. “Did he stop being nice  _ because _ you got pregnant?”

“I think he knows it takes two to tango, but he was—he’s always said I did it on purpose.”  _ My dad thinks it too _ , Stiles thought, but did not dare say it. It was too much. “There was a problem with my suppressants, a super mild allergic reaction, so I stopped taking them for, like, two days. My doctor said it’d be fine.”

Derek didn’t say anything.

“So, yeah. He’s never forgiven me for that, I guess.”

“Why would you do that on purpose?” Derek said. His incredulity made Stiles feel slightly better. “You had to drop out of school. Raising a kid isn’t easy.”

“Thomas’ family has a lot of money.”

Stiles could hear it in his head still, the insults Thomas had thrown at him in his dorm room after Stiles told him he was going to keep their baby. Golddigger had been the nicest one.

Even though Stiles couldn’t smell Derek’s anger, he could see it. Derek grew tense by stages, knuckles going white around the edges of the table, teeth looking sharper.

“We’re fine now,” Stiles said, trying to clear the air. “It was just a matter of time anyways. Thomas and I wouldn’t have lasted long. I’m just happy I got Caleb out of it.”

At the mention of Caleb, Derek relaxed again. Maybe he’d forgotten that if Stiles had not met Thomas, Caleb wouldn’t exist.

“I’ve met your dad,” Derek said suddenly.

Stiles choked on his cake. He tried to take a sip of his water, but the coughing prevented him from doing it. He couldn’t breathe. “You—what? He’s—”

“I saw him at the pharmacy last week,” Derek said. The tips of his ears were bright red. “Uh, we didn’t talk. But I saw him, that’s what I meant.”

“Derek! That’s not what meeting means. I thought—”

“Sorry.”

Stiles coughed into his elbow, and still out of breath, he said, “God. I almost had a heart attack.”

“He seems like a good man.”

“You saw him at the pharmacy for what? Ten minutes? How can you know that?”

Derek touched his hand on the table, fingers softly tracing Stiles’ knuckles. “He raised you.”

For once, Stiles did not know what to say.

*   


On the drive back to Stiles’, he and Derek held hands. Despite being focused on the road, Derek never stopped drawing circles on the inside of Stiles’ wrist with his thumb, so softly it made Stiles’ skin tingle. It was nice to be touched again, Stiles thought. 

And there was no pressure behind it either. Helen was still home with Caleb and it was their first date, so sex was off the table. Every other time Stiles had gone out with someone after Thomas—twice, and never with dinner included—the other person had been eager to get the talking part done and move on to being naked. 

With Derek, Stiles let himself enjoy this, knowing it wouldn’t escalate into anything else for the time being.

By the time Derek was parking the car, the sky was tinged dark blue and black, the sun dimming out to let the night start. A few stars were out, white little dots that Stiles stared at as he got out.

Standing next to the car, neither of them said a word. Stiles didn’t want to let go of Derek’s hand, and Derek seemed to share the sentiment. 

“Did you like it?” Derek said. “I promise next time you get to pick the location.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Next time, huh? That’s a bold assumption on your part.”

“I just—”

“It’s a joke. I didn’t just like it, Derek. It was—” Stiles’ throat was growing tight again. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me.”

Derek frowned. God, he looked so good like that, which had Stiles wondering if maybe he had an anger kink of some kind. “You deserve nice things.”

And, honestly, what was Stiles supposed to reply to that? He could barely feel his legs.

Derek slowly raised his other hand, the one that was free of Stiles’ grasp, and thumbed the edge of Stiles’ jaw. He did so carefully, giving Stiles the opportunity to move away if he wanted to.

Stiles flushed, hard. It was impossible not to, with Derek’s eyes on him, big and honest and beautiful, and his big hand half-cupping Stiles’ face. 

Overly polite and gentle, Derek said, “Can I kiss you?”

Stiles nodded once, and then Derek’s lips were on his, soft and careful. Without letting himself think too much about it, Stiles let his hands rest on Derek’s chest, which was firm and very warm. First kisses were supposed to be awkward and out of tempo, but this one wasn’t. Rationally, Stiles knew that every person had their own way of kissing, their little quirks and preferences, but Derek’s mouth moved on his as though they’d been kissing all their lives, as though they both kissed the exact same way.

Derek’s mouth still tasted of the mango cake Stiles had forced him to try, delightfully sweet. When they broke apart, Derek didn’t pull away, nosing at Stiles’ cheek the way he sometimes did to Caleb.

Stiles’ breathing was stuttered. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Derek’s shoulder. He felt Derek laugh against him, his chest vibrating with every soft cackle. They were standing close, so close there was not an inch of space between their bodies, and yet Stiles wished they could be closer. He wanted to never leave this spot.

Derek pressed another kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Is it okay if I go up with you to say hi to Caleb?”

Stiles pretended to think about it. “Only if you carry my bags.”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t until they’d almost reached the apartment door that Stiles remembered Helen was the one staying with Caleb. How awkward would it be to have her and Derek meet? It wasn’t as though Helen didn’t know about the date, but meeting Derek was a different matter altogether. 

Derek paused at the edge of the stairs. “I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to.”

“Caleb really wants to see you,” Stiles said, biting his lip. “I—would it be weird for you? Meeting Thomas’ mom? I won’t be offended if it is.”

“It might be awkward, but I want to see Caleb too. Stiles, you’ve always told me how kind she is. I’m not going to hate her just because she’s your ex’s mom.”

Right. That made sense. Derek was mature enough to handle this gracefully, and Helen was sweet. It was going to be fine.

Stiles pushed the door open, taking a deep breath as he did so, and stepped inside.

“Daddy,” Caleb shrieked. He sounded strangely happy. “Daddy, look at my new house!”

Helen was sitting with Caleb on the living room floor. There weren’t a billion toys laying around, the way they always were when Stiles and Caleb played. She was good at keeping things tidy, something Stiles had always admired.

There weren’t toys, but there were boxes. Stiles spotted what looked like a cotton fortress, drawings of woods and wolves all over it. It was big enough to hold Caleb and another kid.

“I—Helen did you—”

“No,” Helen said. “They arrived a few minutes after you left. Apparently, someone named Peter sent them? We’ve only opened one so far, but it’s—oh, hello there.”

Derek, who was pretty much plastered to Stiles’ back, stiffened. “Hello.”

“I’m Helen,” she said as she got to her feet. “You must be Derek, right?”

Stiles couldn’t look away from the boxes. God, he was going to fucking kill Peter Hale.

Derek and Helen shook hands, both with polite smiles on their faces. So far, so good. Helen started questioning Derek on exactly where they’d gone and if he’d behaved as a gentleman as Stiles accepted Caleb’s hug.

Caleb’s cheeks were red, as though he’d been laughing hard. “Daddy, can we sleep in my house? It’s very big.”

“I don’t think so, baby. I’m a bit too tall.”

“Derek,” Caleb said without letting go of Stiles’ neck. “Can you call Uncle Peter? He said I have to call him because he’s very lonely.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Uncle Peter?”

“He sent a note,” Helen said with an amused smile. “Said something like ‘to my best friend Caleb, from Uncle Peter. PS. I’m so lonely’. I told Caleb we could call him later to say goodnight, but I didn’t think—”

“And daddy,” Caleb shrieked into Stiles’ ear. “Look! I have kitty socks!”

He did. The socks on his feet were bright red and full of pictures of baby kittens and yarn balls. Stiles cradled the back of Caleb’s head, touching his hair and the back of his neck. Slowly, Caleb stopped wriggling and settled on his lap. “I told Peter not to send him any toys.”

“The note also said something about that.”

“Let me guess,” Derek said wryly. “‘These are not strictly considered toys. So. I’m right.’”

Helen laughed. “Basically, yes.”

“I think I’m going to give this stinky boy a bath,” Stiles said, “to see if I can get him to slow down a bit. Did you eat dinner, Helen?”

“Yes, I’m ready to get out of your hair. And before you even ask, yes, he was more than good.”

Stiles relaxed slightly. “Okay, thank you. Text me in the morning so we can go say goodbye before you leave.”

Helen was picking up her purse when Derek said, “I’d like to walk you to your car if that’s all right?”

Stiles’ heart started beating so fast Caleb put both hands on his chest, rubbing it. “Is that necessary?”

“Oh, yes,” Helen said, a little devious smile on her face. “We have so much to talk about, honey. I’m only sorry your dad isn’t here to give him the parent-with-a-shotgun talk.”

Caleb squirmed to be put down when he saw Derek heading towards the door, but Stiles did not comply. He grew frustrated, huffing and puffing and kicking his little legs.

“Daddy, I want Derek.”

“I’m coming back, pup,” Derek told him from the doorway. “I’m going to make sure your grandma gets safe to her car. Okay? Can you wait for me?”

Helen watched the scene in silence, her face hard to read. God, she was going to grill Stiles with questions tomorrow. 

Caleb didn’t like Derek’s suggestion, but he nodded sulkily anyways. Stiles, feeling victorious, kissed his cheek twice.

“Be good for daddy,” Derek said before opening the door for Helen to walk out. “I’ll be right back. Super fast.”

“Okay,” Caleb said. 

Stiles sat down on the couch with Caleb, staring at the gift Peter had sent. Gradually, Caleb settled against him, not quite sucking his thumb but close enough to it that Stiles had to gently pry his hand away from his mouth. He kept rubbing his nose against Stiles’ throat, mumbling. He said Derek’s name a few times.

“Thank you for being good for grandma,” Stiles said against his hair. “That was very nice of you, baby. Did you help her pick up like I asked you to?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And did you have fun?”

Here Caleb paused. It was a weird pause, because Caleb usually said the first thing that came to mind, especially when it was just the two of them. Stiles rubbed his back, trying to encourage him to talk.

“I don’t know,” Caleb said. 

“Why’s that, love? Did you get bored?”

“No, daddy. But I missed you and Derek.”

“We missed you too,” Stiles said, even though it was a risk. He had no way of knowing for sure that Derek had missed Caleb at all. “But isn’t it nice sometimes to be with other people like Grandma and Grandpa or Uncle Scott?”

Caleb was silent.

“Don’t be grumpy!”

“Not grumpy,” Caleb said firmly. “Derek stays tonight?”

Stiles sighed. He could already see where this was headed: disaster. “No. He has his own house that he needs to take care of. We talked about this, remember?”

Caleb rubbed his eyes. “I want him to stay.”

“I know you do, love, but sometimes—”

“No,” Caleb said, and now he was crying. Fat tears rolled down his flushed cheeks and landed on the front of Stiles’ shirt. “No, daddy. I want Derek to stay.”

Stiles tried to wipe his tears away with his thumb, but they were coming at an alarming rate. He wondered if this reaction was because Caleb was tired, or because they’d spent the day away, or just because he really didn’t understand that Derek was not theirs. 

“Hey, can you slow down? Come on, baby, I can’t—”

But Caleb was wailing, loudly and openly. His back was shaking under Stiles’ hand, sobs choking him more and more as the seconds passed. 

He never threw tantrums, and so Stiles felt at a loss for what to do. Usually, Caleb would just listen to whatever Stiles said and calm down on his own, but no matter what Stiles whispered to him, Caleb would not stop crying.

Something like fear squeezed Stiles’ heart. Maybe Derek coming back wouldn’t be the best idea. What kind of man wanted to end a date night with a sobbing toddler? Stiles could see it in his head already, Derek awkwardly opening the door to a temper tantrum, regretting ever asking Stiles out. It was the sort of thing Thomas would have done.

And Stiles didn’t think he could survive another Thomas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi!!!!!!! sorry it's been so long, i've missed posting! i hope you're all having an amazing week and that you'll have a great weekend. this chapter didn't have too much action, but I really enjoyed writing it <3 they're taking things slow, as they should lol. i really want to explore more of derek and caleb's relationship, so I'm excited about what's to come!!! kids aren't perfect haha so a temper tantrum was long overdue. I'll try to post the next chapter before the weekend ends!!!
> 
> thank you so much for your kind comments y_y they're amazing
> 
> thank you for reading!!!!


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for my friend may. i hope you feel better soon and this cheers you up if you ever read it.

**Eleven**

Derek opened the door just as Stiles was considering forcing Caleb into the bathtub still fully clothed. Nothing he’d done so far seemed to be helping—no bouncing or sweet words had gotten Caleb to calm down—and Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t starting to feel nervous himself. Frustration always got him faster than anything else.

“What’s wrong?” Derek said in a low voice, sitting down next to Stiles on the couch. 

Stiles tried for the hundredth time to wipe Caleb’s tears away, but Caleb kept squirming, pulling away at the last second. The volume of his cries was only getting louder, and Stiles’ temples throbbed accordingly.

He felt his heart crack open when Caleb reached out for Derek, as though Stiles had not been trying to comfort him for over twenty minutes, as though Stiles wasn’t even in the room.

Derek scooped him up effortlessly, but to Stiles’ surprise, he didn’t let Caleb crawl all over him to snuggle up. Instead, he sat Caleb on his lap and made him meet his gaze.

“He wants you to stay,” Stiles said. Getting each word out was a hassle, a task that took up so much effort he could not believe he was getting it done. “I tried to explain you don’t—but he doesn’t get it. I’m not—Derek, I’m not trying to get you to stay the night—”

“It’s okay,” Derek said. He turned to Caleb once more. “I’m going to need you to stop crying, pup. Can you do that?”

Caleb only cried harder, wiping at his face with clumsy hands. He was getting red all over, a sign that he wasn’t getting enough air. Leaning forward, he tried and failed to hide his face into Derek’s neck.

Derek waited for a few seconds, just watching him, and Stiles did not dare do or say anything. 

Slowly, self-doubt started to fill Stiles, and dread, and the familiar self-loathing he was so used to. Caleb had reached out for Derek, he’d sought comfort from someone who wasn’t Stiles, and that hurt. Stiles had never felt so useless as he did then, watching Derek run a steadying hand across Caleb’s back.

“Okay,” Derek said, which made no sense because things weren’t okay. “Do you mind if I try to put him down in your bed?”

Stiles stood up instantly. “Like when we made the nest? Yes. I mean no, I don’t mind. Do you want me to get some blankets from the—”

“No, just come with me. If it doesn’t work, we’ll build the nest.”

“If what doesn’t work?”

Derek held Caleb as he squirmed and walked slowly after Stiles down the hall. The room was as tidy as it usually was, and Stiles silently thanked his past self for not leaving dirty underwear and socks out. The bed was made too, another small mercy.

“Lie down,” Derek said, but it wasn’t a command. Stiles simply felt invited to do so. “We’ll let him nest between us. It’s—my parents did it for Laura.”

Laura, Stiles thought, your intense sister. He did not say it out loud, too busy kicking off his shoes and toeing off his socks. He was on top of the covers in a second, watching as Derek sat Caleb down on the bed to take off his own shoes.

There were drool and snot and tears marring Caleb’s red face. He kept reaching out to Derek, holding onto the back of his shirt as if to keep Derek from moving away. Any other day, Stiles would have found it endearing. Right now all he wanted was to close his eyes and pretend like it didn’t upset him that Caleb was this desperate.

No sooner had Stiles’ head hit the pillow than Derek was laying down next to him, making sure not to smother Caleb in the process. 

Stiles knew Derek could smell his anxiety, and so he did his best to calm down. Caleb rolled over on his stomach and buried his face in the bedding, still crying. The sound seemed to fill the entire room, cry after cry, but Derek remained calm through it all. He rubbed Caleb’s back in slow, lazy circles, and then eventually motioned Stiles to scoot closer.

Five minutes later, Caleb had stopped crying. He rubbed his face against the mattress, probably trying to clean it, and then looked up. Stiles held in his breath, willing himself to not be disappointed when Caleb reached out for Derek again. If that’s what Caleb needed, then why would Stiles deny him that? They’d have to talk about boundaries, about being patient, but Stiles refused to feel jealous of Derek.

“Daddy,” Caleb said and nosed Stiles’ shoulder. 

Stiles shifted so he was on his side, half-cradling Caleb to his chest. The back of Caleb’s head was damp with sweat and so was his shirt. He always ran hotter when he got upset, and Stiles knew it was a werewolf thing. After his first shift, Caleb would permanently have a higher body temperature.

Still shaking slightly, Caleb put his thumb into his mouth. Stiles let him.

“It’s not your fault,” Derek said. “If anything, it’s mine. We can’t keep skipping playdates.”

Stiles ran his fingers through Caleb’s curls, disentangling some of them. “Be honest, Derek. How much is it helping? He’s gone from being attached to me, to being attached to you. That’s not—” Ideal. Good. He settled for, “Healthy.”

“It’s the first stage. We’re creating a bond, that’s why he feels it so intensely. In a few more weeks, granted we keep up the daily schedule, he’ll feel better. It won’t always be like this.”

“Will he start crying again if you leave tonight?”

Derek didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted closer to them, and softly took Stiles’ hand away from Caleb’s hair. That seemed to get him Caleb’s attention, for Caleb lifted his head to face him, frowning, as though he couldn’t believe someone had interrupted his hair stroking session.

“Now that you stopped crying,” Derek said, “we have to talk about a few things. Okay, Caleb?”

Caleb didn’t reply, just cuddled closer to Stiles.

“Remember what I told you before I left?”

“No,” Caleb said hesitantly. It sounded like a hiccup.

“I told you to be good for your dad. Crying and screaming isn’t very nice, is it, pup?” Derek kept his voice gentle, a scolding that sounded nice. Was that was Stiles sounded like when he told Caleb off? “Why did you start crying? Did you feel sad?”

Caleb tried to hide his face again, but Stiles held him in place. 

“Talk to Derek, baby.”

Eventually: “Don’t know.”

“I think you were sad because I was leaving,” Derek said. “It’s fine to cry when you’re sad, but your dad was trying to talk to you. And what do we do when someone’s talking to us?”

“We listen,” Caleb said. He was frowning, not quite meeting Derek’s gaze. His fingers were tracing the buttons of Stiles’ shirt. “We don’t talk—over them.”

“Exactly. So here’s what we’re going to do: you’re going to say sorry to your dad, and then you and I are going to talk about all the reasons why you don’t have to be sad that I’m leaving.”

Stiles gave Derek a smile over Caleb’s head. He mouthed ‘ _ child whisperer’ _ .

Caleb sat up on the bed. His hair was sticking up in all directions, the perfect aftermath of a perfect tantrum. He put his clammy hand against Stiles’ cheek. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles said. “Can you apologize to Derek too, baby? He had to stay longer than planned to help me with you. I think he deserves some sorries.”

“I didn’t—”

Caleb turned around to face Derek. “Sorry, Derek.”

“I’m going to go get Caleb some clean clothes,” Stiles said. “Ones he hasn’t sweated through. I’ll be back in a minute.”

After making sure Caleb wouldn’t throw another tantrum, Stiles got up from the bed and left the room. Once in the hallway, he had to take a few steadying breaths before making his way to Caleb’s room. He should have known Derek would know what to do. Derek always seemed to know what to do, which was strange considering he had no kids. 

As he opened the drawers of Caleb’s dresser, Stiles thought about how Derek would be once he had kids of his own. He’d be a great dad, the kind that could really give his kids the things they needed, and they’d all be so—

No. Stiles was doing it again, and he refused to let it go on. He was not going to picture Derek’s babies with moles on their faces and legs, maybe with brown eyes like Stiles had. No, no, and no. Stiles had better self-control than that.

He was about to push open the door of his room, Paw Patrol PJs in hand, when he heard Derek’s voice. They were talking, and Stiles refused to consider what he was doing eavesdropping. Derek knew he was there after all.

“—with Isaac,” Derek was saying. “He gets very lonely, especially at night.”

“Like Uncle Peter?”

Stiles heard Derek snort. “Yeah, like Uncle Peter.”

“But why—daddy and I could go with you and Isaac. And he wouldn’t be lonely.”

“Then who would look after all your toys and your stuffed animals and your room?”

“Oh,” Caleb said. “I didn’t think.”

“We can have a sleepover once a week. How does that sound, pup? You can come over to my house and we can camp outside in a real tent.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We can build a little bonfire and maybe even ask Peter to come along and help us build a big, big tent.”

“Tonight?” Caleb said, sounding hopeful.

Stiles thought it was time to intervene. He stepped inside and dropped the clean clothes on the bed. Then, slowly, he went up to Caleb and tickled him in the neck, the way that was guaranteed to make him laugh.

“Not tonight, baby. Derek’s been through enough for one day.”

Caleb looked like he wanted to protest, but maybe Derek’s words had had an effect on him because the next thing Stiles knew he was nodding. 

“Daddy, can I have Chase?” 

“Hmm,” Stiles said, trying to get the shirt over Caleb’s head. “Yes, but after you brush your teeth. Dogs don’t like toothpaste.”

Derek put on his shoes as Stiles changed Caleb. He kept smiling at Caleb’s questions— _ but then how do dogs brush their teeth? _ —and then stood by the door, watching. Stiles told himself Derek could have left any time, that if he were truly annoyed, he would have been more obvious about it. 

“I’m going to open the door for Derek,” Stiles said. “Stay here and I’ll bring Chase with me when I come back, all right?”

Caleb lay down on the mess of pillows that was Stiles’ bed. He was already dozing off.

Stiles turned to Derek, only to find him gone from the doorway. Instead of walking out into the hallway, Derek came back inside the room, circling the bed. He bent forward at the waist so he could reach Caleb and nosed his cheek twice. After a split-second’s hesitation, he pressed a kiss to Caleb’s forehead.

“Night night,” Caleb said, yawning.

“Night,” Derek said. He sounded amused.

Once in the living room, Stiles stopped and turned to Derek. The house was very quiet, and they had both been careful not to step on any of the scattered toys Caleb had left on the carpet. One of Stiles’ only rules, when it came to tidying up, was that no Legos could be left laying around. He’d had that bad experience too many times, thank you.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “This isn’t how I wanted the date to end.”

“He’s a kid. Kids get upset easily, it’s fine.”

Stiles bit his lip. He wanted to make it up to Derek, and so he said, “Let me take you out this week. I’ll—it can be a surprise.”

Derek smiled. “I’d like that.”

“I just need to get Scott or Kira to watch Caleb.”

“You can bring him along,” Derek said gently. “I don’t mind. In fact, I’d rather he came with us. Scott’s an alpha, and spending too much time with him might mess up the bond I’m trying to create with Caleb.”

Stiles tried hard not to pout. “You know if he comes to our dates we can’t make out, right?”

“Yeah, Stiles. I know.”

“So does that mean you don’t want to make—”

Derek laughed. He kept it quiet, probably because Caleb might have already fallen asleep. “Come here,” he said, and stepped closer.

Derek didn’t kiss him on the mouth at first. Instead, he pressed his closed mouth to Stiles’ jaw, tracing the edge of it. Then, he kissed the corner of Stiles’ mouth. Then, his dimple. Stiles let out a frustrated noise, which made Derek laugh again.

“Impatient?”

Stiles snorted. “I—”

But Stiles never got to complete his phrase, because Derek leaned in and kissed him for real this time. It felt good and nice and all the positive adjectives Stiles could possibly think of. Derek’s beard burned Stiles’ face in the best way possible, and Stiles’ knees felt like they’d been replaced by Jell-O. It seemed the clichés in Stiles’ life were never-ending.

“Goodnight,” Derek said as he pulled back. His mouth was a dark shade of pink. “Text me before coming over tomorrow so I can get lunch started early.”

Stiles watched him go. It wasn’t until the door had closed behind Derek that Stiles realized exactly how empty the apartment felt without him. Maybe he agreed with Caleb after all. Maybe it would have been nice if Derek had stayed.

*

Fidgeting in the expensive office chair he’d been invited to sit on, Stiles said, “So. Why am I here?”

Dr. Jenkins leaner forward, elbows on his desk. “You can relax, Stiles. I’m not the principal and you’re not in trouble.”

“Ha, I knew that. Of course I knew that.”

“I asked you to come in today because there are some things I want to discuss with you. Both about Caleb and about you.” He gave Stiles an apologetic smile. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult finding someone to watch him while you’re here?”

Stiles shook his head. “My dad had the day off.”

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t too much of a hassle. I can see you’re nervous even though you have no reason to be, so I’ll try to be as upfront and direct as possible. That way we’ll get the boring parts done first.”

Stiles had the vague feeling he was being treated like a child, but he didn’t complain. Dr. Jenkins was a child therapist. He probably talked like this to everyone in his life.

“Caleb’s doing fine,” Dr. Jenkins said. “You mentioned he’s started sleeping in his own bed, which is fantastic. And he’s been making friends outside of the family circle.”

“Adult friends,” Stiles said, frowning. “I’m not sure Derek and his pack count as—”

“They do if that’s how Caleb sees them.”

“Oh.”

“Caleb should make friends his own age, I’m not denying that. But it’s important to recognize how much progress he’s made. A few months back he did not even want to be dropped off at his uncle’s house without you following.”

“I—” Stiles swallowed. “Yes.”

Dr. Jenkins nodded encouragingly. “Cognitively, he’s doing fine. His speech is above his age group, but that’s most likely because he spends so much time with adults. Has he had any accidents?”

“Not at all. The last time he wore a pull-up was at Thomas’ house.”

“Okay, that’s good. Have you thought about preschool?”

“I don’t know what I want to do yet,” Stiles said. He picked at the skin around his thumb. “You said maybe being with kids will help, but he’s so anxious. I don’t—I keep trying to get him to talk to others at the park and play with them, but…”

“Take your time. You don’t have to make up your mind just now.”

Stiles nodded, suddenly grateful that he wasn’t being grilled with questions he could not answer.

“Now,” Dr. Jenkins said slowly, “I’d like to talk a bit about you. How have you been, Stiles?”

“I—fine. Everything’s fine.”

Dr. Jenkins gave him a long look. “Even though Thomas is threatening you with court?”

“It’s not a threat anymore,” Stiles said. “His lawyer left me a voicemail yesterday. It’s… happening, apparently.”

Silence settled over them like dust. After a while, Stiles looked away. There was a big bookshelf behind Dr. Jenkins, and Stiles busied himself by reading the titles in his head, trying not to cringe at some of them. 

“I hope you know what I’m about to say comes from a place of professionalism,” Dr. Jenkins said, “and not judgment. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a good job raising Caleb. I really do.”

Stiles’ heart slammed against his ribs, again and again. It was getting harder to breathe. He could feel a ‘but’ coming.

Dr. Jenkins went on. “Stiles, have you ever considered going to therapy yourself?”

“I—what?”

“As you know, I’ve been working with Caleb to figure out exactly why he has attachment issues. Our first theory was, given his living circumstances, that he was feeling rather lost without an Alpha around. The dynamic kept throwing him off.”

“And it’s not?”

“It is,” Dr. Jenkins said. “Or at least, it was. Your friend Derek is doing a good job at changing that, and yet… And yet Caleb’s reluctance to make new friends, as we discussed, is still an issue. So is spending time away from you in general.” He shook his head. “Caleb’s come a long way, Stiles, don’t get me wrong. But in his last session, he mentioned something that made me think you might be in need of some help as well.”

Stiles felt like someone was stepping on his chest. He was an adult, he reminded himself, and he had to deal with things like this. He couldn’t just run back home and hide under his bed. Those days were long gone.

“What did Caleb tell you?”

“We were playing the questions game we always play towards the end of his sessions, and when I asked him why he was so fidgety and eager to get out of the room, he told me he knew you wanted a hug.”

Stiles frowned. “But I wasn’t there with him. How could he possibly know—”

“The door was open, remember?” Dr. Jenkins paused, clearly searching for something in Stiles’ expression. “He could smell you.”

“That still doesn’t explain why he thought I wanted a hug.”

The pause that followed was gentle. Tactful. Then, Dr. Jenkins said, “Stiles, he could smell your anxiety. He’s—I think he’s been smelling it for a while now, as well as other emotions. Your smell is the strongest one to him because you carried him, and so there’s a bond there that’s even more unique than the one werewolves share with their packmates. He wants to comfort you when you feel anxiety, or dread, or even sadness.”

Stiles dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He couldn’t find his voice.

“When you’re not around,” Dr. Jenkins went on, “he guesses you’re feeling those negative emotions he so often smells on you. I believe his need to comfort you is what started making it hard for him to be away from you, to have his own experiences. To leave you alone meant to let you be miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” Stiles said automatically.

Dr. Jenkins reached into the pocket of his shirt. He pulled out a small white card, something already scribbled on it. He placed it on his desk, and then pushed it towards Stiles. “This colleague of mine has plenty of experience treating single parents. I’d like you to give her a call whenever you feel ready.”

Stiles did not move an inch. “Ready for what?”

“Ready to talk to someone about your problems.”

“I don’t—”

“Stiles,” Dr. Jenkins said, “we all have problems. There’s no shame in asking for help. It means you want to do better, be better. When Caleb comes to you for help, do you simply turn him away and tell him to ignore whatever is troubling him?”

Stiles frowned. “No. Of course not.”

“Then why do that to yourself?”

A minute passed, and then another. Stiles was aware of every breath he took, every movement he made. There were a million things going through his head. Could he afford to go to therapy? Did he even want to? If he was doing such a good job as a single dad as everyone was always saying, then why did he have to do this? 

Slowly, feeling small and shaky, Stiles leaned forward and took the card.

*

**_Stiles, dear._ **

**_Will you be home this lovely afternoon?_ **

**_Some packages will arrive._ **

**_peter_ **

**_……_ **

**_i literally asked you not to send anything_ **

**_god u can’t keep spoiling my kid like this_ **

**_he’s gonna grow up to be an entitled ass_ **

**_Like me?_ **

**_Derek mentioned Caleb likes soft fabrics._ **

**_I got him a few shirts._ **

**_And some pants._ **

**_peter………….._ **

**_And socks._ **

**_He doesn’t have to wear them all at once!_ **

**_i can dress my son_ **

**_he’s not some poor orphan boy you have to dote on_ **

**_sorry, i didn’t mean to be rude._ **

**_long day._ **

**_No one thinks you can’t dress Caleb._ **

**_It’s a pack thing, dear._ **

**_derek said your not in his pack_ **

**_you’re*_ **

**_It’s a Peter thing then._ **

**_you don’t need to buy him things to get him to like you_ **

**_you know that right?_ **

**_Of course._ **

**_would you like to come over tomorrow?_ **

**_he’s been asking me to invite you non-stop_ **

**_doesn’t like the idea of you being lonely lol_ **

**_Will Derek be there?_ **

**_idk he said he had to work_ **

**_something came up with the house_ **

**_why?_ **

**_That means I get to bring Caleb a present and my nephew can’t criticize it_ **

**_Perfect._ **

**_peter… just no lighters this time_ **

**_or knives_ **

**_or just…. KEET IT AGE APPROPRIATE please_ **

**_i am b e g g i n g you_ **

**_I will try my best._ **

*****

“What’s bothering you?” Derek said, standing so close to Stiles his words were puffs of warm air against Stiles’ nape. He watched Stiles go on chopping a tomato. “Is it the trial?”

Stiles wanted to lean back and just let Derek support him. He wanted Derek to take him to bed and hide him away from the rest of the world with its big problems and complicated people. 

Stupidly and without thinking, Stiles let his instincts lead. He leaned back, pressing his back to Derek’s chest, and stayed there. There was only a second’s hesitation on Derek’s part before he was wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist, hands loosely clasped over Stiles’ stomach.

And wouldn’t it be nice, Stiles’ brain told him, if his stomach were swollen and tender with—

“I’m so tired,” Stiles said. He hadn’t meant to, but the words simply came out. They were true. “I just want—I wish I could just—”

Derek held him closer. The small kiss he pressed to Stiles’ temple felt like an encouragement to keep talking. Like a flood, all the problems he’d been hoarding since their date came out of his mouth, unstoppable.

“My editor is driving me crazy, and so I’ve only been getting, like, three hours of sleep. And I’m so tired and stressed out I snapped at Caleb this morning. No, dude. Like, I snapped at him really bad.” Stiles let out a shaky breath. He wondered what Derek was thinking, if he was as angry at Stiles as Stiles was at himself. It seemed unlikely, what with the way Derek kept holding him. “He was just asking me to play with him. Derek, I’m—”

“I’ll take care of him today,” Derek said firmly. He slipped the knife out of Stiles’ hand. “Come on, you need a nap.”

Stiles couldn’t argue. He knew he ought to—he was Caleb’s father, he was responsible for his kid, he couldn’t just shrug off responsibility like this—but the exhaustion he was dealing with was far too great.

Derek was gentle as he herded Stiles out of the kitchen. He did not let go of Stiles’ hand even though it was completely unnecessary, and he only stepped away when they’d made it up the stairs and into his room. All the way up, Stiles could hear Caleb's laughter coming from somewhere inside the house. Isaac's exaggerated shrieks followed.

It was a very nice room. The bed was bigger than Stiles’, the sheets more expensive. As Derek busied himself with the curtains, Stiles stared at the little photographs on the nightstand. Derek, smiling with who could only be his sisters. Derek, younger and scowling next to Peter. Derek, holding a baby with a blue hat.

Suddenly the room turned dark. Derek had drawn the blinds.

“Come here,” Derek said, holding the edge of the blanket up. “Do you want me to lend you a shirt?”

Stiles only shook his head, crawling under the covers. This was Derek’s bed. This was the bed Derek slept in, and probably jerked off in, and probably had fucked people in. The last thought made Stiles uneasy. When his head hit Derek’s pillow, the world did not seem like such a bad place anymore.

Derek sat down on the edge of the mattress, watching him. 

“If he’s too much trouble,” Stiles said, “just let him come in. He always calms down after a nap.”

“He’s never too much trouble.”

“Really, Derek. Promise me you’ll—”

“I will,” Derek said. Stiles didn’t know if he was scowling because he’d already closed his eyes. “Get some rest and stop worrying.”

“Is that—order?”

There was a chuckle. Stiles had almost floated away completely, soft and warm and smelling Derek on the pillow, when he felt a kiss on his forehead. It might have been a dream, and yet… 

He drifted off, too tired to feel guilty about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys!!!!!! i'm so so so sorry i never replied to last chapter's comments. it's been a crazy week and I thought i would post this today instead of delaying it until i was done replying :c next chapter is one of my faves!!! (i know I've said before that I'm sorry i keep changing the chapter count but please don't kill me haha I'm trying to outline so i know exactly how many more chapters this will be, promise the next change will be the last!!!!!)
> 
> next chapter features more caleb, another sterek date, and maaaaaybe some peter!!!!!!!
> 
> thank you so much for reading this and i hope you all have an amazing weekend!!!! again, so sorry for not replying to your comments.
> 
> <3


	12. Twelve

**Twelve**

“—to the fishy sea,” Caleb said from somewhere. It was hard for Stiles to know if the voice was coming from inside his head or if his kid was really around. “Uncle Scott says fishies don’t have—the qually.”

Stiles opened his eyes slowly. The room was still dark, curtains drawn and lights off, but there was noise close by. He did not turn around, liking too much the way the mattress felt under his back.

“Shhh,” Derek said softly. “Daddy’s sleeping.”

A small, warm hand touched Stiles’ neck. It made him laugh. 

Victorious, Caleb said, “He’s not! Daddy, wake up. We’re going to see fishes.”

“Fish,” Stiles corrected as he turned around. God, this bed was the best surface Stiles had ever, ever, slept on. He stretched a bit, still under the sheets, and then turned his head to face Derek and Caleb. “Hello there.”

Derek was sitting on the very edge of the bed. His shirt had big white patches of white, which made Stiles frown. Was that dust or flour? 

Stiles got his answer when his gaze fell on Caleb. His son’s brown curls were now stiff and pale, covered in the same powder Derek’s shirt was dusted with. There was a smudge on his cheek, and his clothes were… Stiles shook his head. Laundry in exchange for a nap wasn’t too bad.

“What have you been up to?” Stiles said as Caleb wiggled his way under the covers before Stiles could tell him not to. Derek seemed unfazed, as though he couldn’t care less about his sheets getting dirty. “Have you been helping Derek in the kitchen, baby?”

“We baked you some cookies,” Derek said, bashful. “It’s a family recipe.”

Caleb nuzzled Stiles’ shoulder. “Hmm. I ate one. It was very, very, very, very warm.”

“I tried telling him to wait but…”

Laughing, Stiles said, “Yeah, Caleb’s not the best when it comes to waiting. Oh, don’t pout, love. You really aren’t.” He tried, and failed, to smooth Caiden’s curls with his hand. “What fish were you talking about earlier? Did you go to the stream?”

Derek shifted so his back was pressed against the headboard. He reached out to rub the flour out of the back of Caleb’s shirt. When he was done, he kept his hand there, splayed over Caleb’s back.

“I thought we could go to the aquarium today,” Derek said. “Like a date, I mean. I—we decided last time that Caleb should come with us. The aquarium is very kid-friendly.”

Stiles bit his lip to keep his laughter contained. “Kid-friendly? Did you have to google that?”

“Isaac told me. I made him look it up.”

“Derek.”

Derek frowned. “There’s no harm in being prepared.”

“Daddy, I want to see the rays. And the—Derek, what’s the fishy—”

“Cowfish,” Derek said softly. Then, to Stiles, “I showed him some pictures on my phone. He really liked that one.”

“Does it look like a cow, baby?”

Caleb shook his head. His smile was blindingly bright, as though he’d been expecting Stiles to ask him that all along. “No! It has a pouty mouth. Like this, daddy.” He put his hands on Stiles’ cheeks and pressed down, making them sink. Stiles’ lips became a pout. “Cowsies don’t look like that.”

Stiles looked at Derek and found him already staring. He said, “We’re still working on our plurals.”

“Pup, can you go tell Isaac to help you get dressed? He knows where your clothes are. Just knock on his door, he’s right down the hall.”

Caleb nodded furiously and wiggled his way out of the bed. He was still nodding as he disappeared out the door, calling Isaac’s name. 

There was a lot to unpack there. Isaac had a room in this house, which meant he lived with Derek. And Derek had said ‘your clothes’, which made little sense considering Stiles had not brought Caleb another pair of pants or a shirt. 

“Peter,” Derek said, his eyes on Stiles’ face. Oh, so that explained the clothes. “You’re not the only one he’s been sending gifts to.”

“Derek, you really need to tell him to stop. He’s—It’s too much. I’ll never be able to pay him back.”

Derek’s hand found Stiles’ on top of the sheets. His thumb was warm and soft, and it made Stiles wish Derek was cupping his face instead of his hand. It made Stiles wish they were closer, and wearing fewer clothes, and maybe even kissing. There was no other way to explain how he felt other than the constant ache for more, more, more. 

“Peter would never ask you to pay him back,” Derek said slowly. He kept his eyes on Stiles’ fingers, his thumb rubbing careful circles over Stiles’ pale wrist. “I know it’s a lot, and I’ve tried to tell him to… slow down. But he’s just—”

“Intense?”

Derek gave him a soft smile, sad and small. “Yeah. He’s lost a lot in his life, and he’s always wanted kids. I think he’d be a terrible dad, but being an uncle… It really suits him.” Derek paused. It was as though he was expecting Stiles to interrupt. “Besides, it’s a bit of a werewolf thing.”

Without meaning to or really thinking it through, Stiles curled closer to Derek. He rested his cheek on Derek’s shoulder, breathing him in. He smelled of vanilla and flour, a walking cookie. 

“But you’re not his Alpha,” Stiles said. “How does that work? I’ve read that sometimes Betas want to provide for their Alpha’s, er, mate.”

“I’ve been thinking of letting Peter join my pack for a while.”

“Won’t you have to kill his current Alpha or something equally dramatic?”

Derek laughed. It was a beautiful sound, soft and breathy, and Stiles wanted to lie his head down on Derek’s chest and feel the ripples of that laughter wash over him. “Right now Peter doesn’t have a pack. It’s complicated. As I said, he’s lost people.”

“Oh,” Stiles said.

A second later Isaac was stumbling into Derek’s room, being led by the hand by a very over-excited Caleb. He gave Derek an apologetic smile as he let Caleb babble on and on about fish and cows and also a Disney movie about cats. 

“—and we’ll see the corals,” Caleb said. “You’re going to really, really like them. Derek says they can’t move anywhere.”

Isaac paled a little. Eyes on Derek, he said, “I didn’t tell him I was going. I’m—I know it’s a date. I’m not trying to—”

“You should come,” Stiles said before Derek could even open his mouth. “It’ll be fun. Caleb wants you there.”

Derek nodded. “You’ve been studying all day. I think you deserve a break, kid. We can go out for dinner afterward.”

“But I’m…” Isaac shifted, still holding Caleb’s hand. “It’s your date.”

“And we’re asking you to tag along.” Stiles winked at him. “We need someone to watch Caleb for us while we—”

“Daddy,” Caleb said, trying to climb onto the bed again and, in the process, dragging Isaac with him. “Da- _ ddy _ .”

Stiles helped him up and settled him on his lap. He smelled like Derek’s fabric softener and the almond shampoo Stiles had bathed him with that morning. “I’m listening, baby. What do you need?”

“To go!”

“Right now?” Stiles pretended to consider it, even fake-yawning a little. “But I’m so sleepy…”

Caleb was not in the mood for games. He made grabby hands at Derek, wriggling around on Stiles’ lap until Derek hoisted him up and into his arms. 

“Bye, daddy.”

“What? Where—”

“Me and Derek and Isaac are seeing the fishes. Bye, bye.”

Stiles sat a bit straighter in Derek’s massive bed, and watched Caleb play with the neckline of Derek’s shirt. It was getting harder and harder not to laugh. 

“You’ve created a fish-obsessed monster, Derek. I hope you’re happy.”

Derek smiled, face half-hidden in Caleb’s hair.

*

The ride to the aquarium was filled with constant chatter. Derek drove and Stiles watched him from the passenger seat, mesmerized by how much attention Derek paid to whatever Caleb was blabbering about. He nodded at all the right times, hummed, asked questions. 

In the rearview mirror, Stiles watched as Isaac progressively relaxed. Caleb had insisted they held hands the whole way to the aquarium, and their interlocked fingers made Stiles ache a little. He’d always wanted Caleb to have a sibling, knew far too well how lonely it was being an only child.

“Have you seen Finding Nemo?” Isaac asked in a low voice. He spoke hushedly most of the time, as though he was too aware of the sound of his own voice, as though Derek or Stiles would turn around and snap at him for speaking in the first place. His dad, Stiles thought, must have been a real piece of work. “We can watch it next time you come over to the house.”

“Have  _ you  _ seen the little Ariel?” Caleb replied, squirming in his car seat. “Daddy knows all the songs.”

“No,” Stiles said. “Before anyone asks me to, I will not sing any of them.”

Something flickered in Isaac’s expression, but it was gone too soon for Stiles to read into it. He still held Caleb’s hand and talked to him, but his focus seemed to be somewhere else. Stiles wanted to ask Derek about it, about the change in Isaac’s demeanor, but he did not know how to do it without asking the question out loud. And so he kept quiet.

*

The stingray hall was pink. There were lights somewhere inside the massive fish tanks and they tinged everything a soft shade of red, almost rosy. Caleb was pressing his face to the glass, hand splayed over it as he waved at the stingrays. Isaac was crouching down next to him, watching an orange fish swim around in tight circles.

Stiles was standing less than a foot away, alternating between watching them and the cute jellyfish that kept swimming—or rather, floating?—close by. He didn’t tense when he felt Derek’s arms around his waist, and instead, let himself relax his back into Derek’s chest.

There weren’t many people around. Stiles had an inkling that was why Derek had wanted to come in the first place because he’d known it wasn’t a very popular time to hang around. Stiles appreciated that; crowds had never been quite his thing.

“Sorry,” Stiles said after a while, eyes on the gleaming water. “I kind of turned our date into a pack outing.”

Derek’s fingers brushed against Stiles’ hipbone, back and forth. “I’m glad you did. I—anyone else might have tried to get Isaac to babysit. Or just left him at home by himself.” A pause, like an intake of breath. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t want him to feel left out.” Stiles glanced at Isaac and Caleb. “I bet right now he wishes he’d stayed at home. Caleb’s been talking his ear off for, like, thirty minutes now.”

“It’s all the sugar rush from the cookies.”

“Which I never got to taste, by the way.”

Derek laughed, arms tightening slightly around Stiles. “I tried to talk him into baking dark chocolate cookies, but he insisted on oats and raisins.”

That didn’t surprise Stiles at all. “Yeah, well. He gets all that from his dad, clearly. I’m the one with the good taste around here.”

“Actually,” Derek said slowly, and paused. “Caleb wanted to bake some for your dad. He asked me what the ‘less bad ones’ were. I assume your dad eats pretty clean?”

“I wish. He’s—complicated. High blood pressure, a lot of stress from work. His diet isn’t the best.”

Derek nodded against Stiles’ temple, his beard leaving behind a pleasant tingle on Stiles’ skin.

“What about your parents?” Stiles said. A green fish was chasing a blue one before their eyes. “Do you get along?”

“We do. They’re coming to Beacon Hills once the house is finished.”

“Your sisters too?”

“Yes,” Derek said. “To be honest, they’ve wanted to drop by for a while now, but I… If you think Peter’s intense, then I don’t know what you’ll think of the rest of my family.”

Stiles gave a surprised laugh. “So you’ve been keeping them away? Derek, I  _ like _ Peter. I’m sure I’ll like all of them.”

“Peter is nothing compared to my—”

“Derek,” Caleb called. He was in Isaac’s arms, pointing at the tank. “That’s a sharky.”

“It isn’t,” Isaac said, amused. “Sharks are bigger.”

“It’s a baby shark.”

“I don’t think baby sharks are red.”

Caleb put both hands over Isaac’s eyes, shaking his head. “Huh-uh.”

Derek watched them goof around for a long time, longer than was normal. Stiles tilted his head to get a good look at Derek’s face, a little frown on his forehead. He didn’t seem mad, just concentrated. 

“Hey,” Stiles said after a while. “What’s wrong?”

Almost surprised, Derek looked down at Stiles. “Nothing. I was just thinking.” The pink glow made it hard to tell if Derek was blushing, but Stiles liked to think he was. The tips of the man’s ears never lied. 

“What about?”

Derek’s hand moved slowly from Stiles’ waist to his stomach, hovering over it. He did not seem to be aware of the slight shift, too busy sneaking glances at Isaac and Caleb, who were now having a competition over who could count more fish. Derek’s hand was hot as a furnace, burning through the layers of clothes Stiles had on. His pinky was just inches away from the c-section scar under Stiles’ belly button.

“I had a big family growing up,” Derek said, almost distractedly. “My parents, my sisters, my cousins. Every dinner felt like a holiday.”

Stiles said nothing, not quite understanding where Derek was going with that.

“Do you think you’d ever want to—”

“ _ Daddy _ ,” Caleb shrieked. He was hanging upside down, Isaac holding him by the ankles. His curls bounced wildly around his face. “I’m a monkey.”

Gingerly, Stiles disentangled himself from Derek’s arms. He smiled at Isaac to let him know he wasn’t going to tell him off for playing with Caleb. “Come on, monkey,” he said, taking him from Isaac so Caleb was once more sitting up. “I think you’ve given Isaac enough grief already.”

Isaac shook his head. A little too quietly: “Not at all.”

Caleb nuzzled Stiles’ throat, his right hand sneaking under Stiles’ shirt so he could touch the marred skin underneath. It was something he hadn’t done in a while, months even, and Stiles was too surprised to tell him not to do it. Caleb had ruined a lot of Stiles’ shirts by stretching the neckline beyond what was acceptable.

“Let’s go to the next room,” Stiles said. “Don’t you want to see the baby corals?”

Derek and Isaac followed him down the hall and into the next room, where the lights were green instead of pink. Stiles tried to focus on Caleb and how excited he was instead of on the growing anxiety he was feeling. Every time he turned, he found Isaac staring at his neck.

*

**_I’m at the apartment._ **

**_Where are you?_ **

**_Stiles?_ **

“Fuck,” Stiles said. He winced a bit at Caleb’s disapproving face. “Sorry, baby. I—Derek, can you watch him for ten minutes? I need to make a call.”

Derek frowned. He probably thought Stiles’ request was unnecessary considering he’d been feeding Caleb chicken nuggets for the past fifteen minutes. 

Isaac, who had turned absolutely mute since they’d left the aquarium, said nothing at all as Stiles walked away from the table and into the restroom. He’d barely even touched his food.

“Dad,” Stiles said as soon as he was in one of the stalls. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

“ _ I didn’t know you wouldn’t be home. Is Caleb at Scott’s?” _

“No, he’s with me. If you want to I can drive to your house when I’m done here.”

There was an awkward pause. Then, “ _ Where’s ‘here’, exactly?” _

Stiles closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He was an adult. He got to do whatever he wanted in his free time, no matter what anyone else thought, as long as he took care of his kid and didn’t endanger him in any way. Stiles wasn’t in the wrong here.

“I’m out with Derek. We went to the aquarium and now we’re having dinner at Carl’s.”

“ _ Okay. Well, have fun, kiddo. _ ” The words were said tersely, and Stiles knew there was more his dad wanted to say. However, confrontations over the phone had never been his dad’s strong suit. “ _ Call me when you get home. There’s—I think we need to talk.” _

That was code for ‘I think you need to sit while I tell you exactly how you’re messing up your life. And Caleb’s. Again.’ Stiles nodded and then realized his dad couldn’t see him.

“Sure. I’ll give you a call as soon as I’m free.”

“ _ Don’t forget. _ ”

“I won’t, dad.”

Another weird pause. It stretched on and on until his dad disconnected the call, leaving Stiles staring at the dirty tiles of the restroom floor. So much for having a good day.

*

“I’m sorry,” Derek said as they walked to Stiles’ building. “I really don’t know why he’s acting like this.”

Stiles shrugged. He tried to smile and hoped Derek couldn’t tell how upset he was over Isaac’s sudden mood swing. “It’s okay. He just wanted to stay in the car, not a big deal.”

Caleb had already reached the door and was making explosion noises, flailing his arms around to imitate some sort of strange plane. He’d had a very exciting day, but Stiles knew he’d calm down after his bath. Tonight was going to be a good night, which meant Caleb would go to sleep early and Stiles would finally get to sit down and work. 

“Maybe he wanted to give us a little privacy,” Stiles said with a smile. He highly doubted it, but he wasn’t going to complain about getting five minutes with Derek without anyone watching. Caleb was distracted. 

“Oh?” Derek said, one hand folding over Stiles’ hips, pulling him close. He cupped Stiles’ face with his other hand, similarly to what he’d done after their first date. “And why would he do that?”

The other times they’d kissed, Derek had initiated it. Now Stiles did not think about it, did not allow his own anxiety to ruin the moment, and simply leaned in and kissed Derek on the mouth. His hands had been trapped between their bodies, but slowly Stiles moved them so they were clasped behind Derek’s neck. 

Derek smiled into the kiss, pulling away just to kiss Stiles again and again, little pecks that made him want to laugh. He kissed the hinge of Stiles’ jaw, then the corner of his mouth, then his lips again, softly.

Stiles’ eyes were fluttering open when he felt the all too familiar tug on his shirt.

“Daddy?”

“What’s wrong?” Stiles said, not even waiting for Caleb to lift his arms before picking him up. “Caleb?”

“Wanna go home,” Caleb mumbled. He’d tucked his head under Stiles’ chin and refused to look up or pull away.

Derek looked concerned. Before Stiles could tell him that it was probably way past Caleb’s nap time, Derek raised his hand. He was about to touch Stiles’ shoulder when Caleb grabbed a hold of his wrist, quite firmly, and pushed him away.

“No,” Caleb said, as though that explained it all.

“Baby, Derek wasn’t hurting me. He was giving me kisses.”

“I would never hurt your dad,” Derek said. “Ever, pup.”

Stiles rubbed Caleb’s back the way he’d seen Derek do a million times. He didn’t quite know what to say. He’d thought, maybe foolishly, that Caleb wouldn’t mind him and Derek being together. Caleb liked Derek after all. Evidently, Stiles had been wrong. As usual.

“He’s just tired,” Stiles said with a little effort. “I’m going to put him down for the night after his bath.”

Derek did not move an inch, looking as heartbroken as Stiles himself was feeling. It would have been easy for Stiles to just turn around and run inside, to hide from this, but he knew what was waiting for him back home. A phone call from his dad where he’d most likely get told off.

“Can you say goodbye to Derek?” Stiles said. “And thank you for taking us to see the fish.”

Caleb ignored him completely.

“Caleb.”

“What’s got you so scared?” Derek asked suddenly. “Caleb, I wasn’t hurting your dad. Remember what I taught you, how you can smell when people are being hurt? You dad doesn’t smell like that, pup.”

Stiles kissed the crown of Caleb’s head. “I like kisses. I like yours, and Derek’s, and Uncle Scotty’s.”

Very quietly, Caleb said, “Dad gives daddy kisses, not Derek.”

None of them moved a muscle for what felt like an eternity. Stiles’ brain went completely blank, nothing witty or fun to say, nothing reassuring either. Derek seemed absolutely baffled as well, which did not surprise Stiles in the slightest. What kind of dude wanted to be reminded that the person they were seeing had dated someone else?

Caleb’s comment made little sense to Stiles. He and Thomas had only kissed once after Caleb was born, one night after Thomas had brought Caleb back from Helen’s. Stiles hadn’t been thinking straight—too little Adderall, too close to his heat, too fucking lonely—and Thomas had probably thought it would lead to a hookup. 

It seemed impossible that Caleb remembered that. And worst of all, that he thought Stiles and Thomas were still a thing.

“No, love,” Stiles said as soon as his tongue thawed. “No. Dad and daddy are friends, like I’m friends with Uncle Jackson or—or Uncle Scott. Friends don’t kiss on the mouth, baby. Remember?”

“Stiles,” Derek said slowly. “Stop. He’s not jealous on his dad’s behalf. He just smells scared.”

“Why are you scared, love? What’s wrong? Caleb, you’re starting to freak me out.”

Caleb’s voice was very small, as though he did not want anyone but Stiles to hear him. “Don’t want Derek to go away, daddy.”

Derek stepped closer. This time, Caleb didn’t push his hand away, and Derek kissed his cheek softly, giving him enough time to pull away if Caleb wanted to. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Even though Derek didn’t say the words, Stiles heard them anyway.  _ I’m not your dad _ .

It made sense, in a sad, pathetic way. Stiles had not dated since Thomas, at least not seriously. He’d never introduced any of his hookups to Caleb, for obvious reasons. Did Caleb really think kissing meant that Derek would not visit as often anymore, that he’d start treating them both like shit? That was what Thomas had done.

What he was still doing.

Derek’s phone started ringing.

“It’s probably Isaac,” Stiles said shakily. “Go, Derek. We’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Okay, Stiles? Please don’t—”

“I’m fine. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Stiles did not bother trying to get Caleb to say goodbye or thank you to Derek. He had a feeling it’d be a losing battle, and he had no strength left to fight it. Inside his head, he kept hearing Caleb’s words over and over again as he made his way into the building and up the stairs.

_ Dad gives daddy kisses _ .

*

**_im home dad but im beat_ **

**_call you tmrrw_ **

**_You can’t keep putting off this conversation_ **

**_Stiles, I’m worried about you_ **

**_Thomas called_ **

**_Stiles can you please pick up the phone_ **

**_tomorrow dad_ **

**_goodnight._ **

*

“Hey,” Scott said the moment Stiles opened the door. “What’s wrong, dude? Is Caleb okay? Stiles, you look—you’re scaring me.”

Stiles rubbed his face with both hands and said nothing. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he called Scott after tucking Caleb into bed, going into a manic rant and then hanging up when Scott offered to stop by. Stiles hadn’t thought Scott would actually do it, that he’d let Kira sleep alone just because Stiles was having a little breakdown.

A big breakdown, maybe.

Scott stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He was wearing sweatpants and the faded-out Superman t-shirt Stiles had bought for him as a joke years ago. 

“Come here,” Scott said, guiding Stiles towards his own couch. “Perfect, sit down and—”

“I’m not a kid,” Stiles snapped. “I don’t need you to praise me for sitting down.”

Scott didn’t argue. Instead, he sat down next to Stiles and draped one arm over his shoulders, slowly but surely dragging him down until they were both lying on the couch. It was quiet, their breaths coming and going like the tide.

“Did you have a fight with Derek?”

“No,” Stiles said automatically. He didn’t even have to conjure up the words, they simply were inside his mouth.

Scott held him tighter, one hand curled carefully over the nape of Stiles’ neck. “Good. That’s good to hear. What’s wrong then?”

“I,” Stiles said, and stopped.

“Stiles?” A pause, stretched out and painful. “Is it Thomas?”

And what was Stiles supposed to say to that? It was Thomas, but it also wasn’t. It was the fact that his kid had all these fucked up ideas regarding kissing, as though someone kissing his dad meant they were absolute garbage, and then the fact that Dr. Jenkins had sent Stiles to therapy and Stiles hadn’t even managed to give Dr. Anderson a call. It was the fact that Isaac was clearly upset with him and Stiles had no fucking clue why. It was the fact that he’d called Scott at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday. It was the fact that his dad thought he was ruining Caleb’s life.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, and his voice broke around the last word, snapping in two like a twig. “I—don’t—”

Scott let out a hum. He had to know Stiles was crying, could probably smell the salt in his tears and feel the drops landing on his shirt, but he did not comment on it. His hand was smaller than Derek’s but it still felt nice when he rubbed Stiles’ back in slow, lazy circles, and when he pushed the hair out of Stiles’ eyes, smoothing it back like Stiles often did to Caleb. Like his dad had done to Stiles as a kid.

“It’s okay, dude. You’re going to be okay.”

Stiles didn’t think so, but he was crying too hard to argue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!!!!! i'm super super sorry for the long wait. it's been a while! I'm kinda bummed out that I couldn't include peter in this chapter, but I promise he'll be around very soon haha. I'm still working on the outline of this fic, but I PROMISE by the time I post the next chapter I'll finally have it completed. 
> 
> i was thinking of leaving my tumblr in the last chapter's notes so you guys can send me any prompts you want! and questions or just anything really. i quite like writing for this fandom, everyone so far has been super nice to me <3
> 
> thank you for reading!! I'll try to post the next chapter soon!!!

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very self-indulgent fic, which means there's not a lot of plot and the characters may be a bit ooc. i hope you enjoy it anyway. 
> 
> thank you for reading!


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